Welcome, The Darkness Infused
by Prophecies
Summary: Book7. Harry Potter has always been unusual. But how unusual will he become, when a brutal massacre at Bill's wedding leaves him simmering with rage and revenge? Confronted with a darker side of himself and with unlikely allies, what's next?
1. Not so perfect day

**Chapter 1. Not so perfect day**

Harry wasn't bothered.

Really, he didn't care.

He didn't care what the consequences would be if this was all just an elaborate trap and he would be caught.

Didn't care at all about going back to tell Ron and Hermione or anyone else what had happened and where he had gone.

He definitely didn't care about the handful of Muggles that had almost had a heart attack after seeing him vanish with a loud cracking noise, or about the other handful of Muggles that saw him appear out of thin air with an identical 'crack' in the middle of a Muggle street a split second later.

He was too busy wildly casting a murderous gaze around, wearing a most frightening expression on his face, breathing hard and storming off like an enraged hippogriff into the other direction to give them any notice.

He could not even bring himself to care about the penalty he would most likely receive from the ministry for apparating in front of muggles, just one week after getting his official apparating license.

They would probably need to send a team of obliviators soon too, if he had to go by the gasps and shrieks of disbelief that exploded behind his fast-retreating back.

He knew he was probably going to regret his rash decision making sooner rather than later.

He knew that the dark angry cloud that hovered on the edge of his mind, contributing to his already incensed state, was probably an indication that he should not have been making decisions in the first place.

He was pretty sure that he perhaps should take note of the little nagging voice (which sounded remarkably like Hermione) that was buzzing some where near the edge of his consciousness.

It was trying to convince him that he was being unreasonable and should just stop to think for a second before he got himself killed in a most unpleasant way.

It was probably right, he thought resentfully, but right now he really didn't give a shit.

The buzzing was persistently getting louder with every step he took towards his purpose.

It was getting more frantic the closer he got, begging him to 'please listen and think about how it would be better to form a plan first instead of flying head first into a doubtlessly less than advisable position.'

He ignored it completely with a vicious snarl directed inwards, willing the Hermione-like-voice to shut up.

Because he really did not care.

Not right now anyway.

Because right now, the overwhelming roar ringing in his ears, egging him on, seething with vengeance and boiling over with uncontrollable pent up rage droned out any clear thought his mind was able to form.

And he was grateful for it. Grateful that he didn't have to feel anything else but this scorching ferocity, because he wasn't at all sure what would happen if it left him.

He revelled in his state of fury, pleased with the feeling of invincibility that came with it.

It possessed his spirit, and tainted it a dark black, making him believe that he could take on anything at all.

Even if Voldemort himself spontaneously decided to materialise out of the flowering shrub that stood just to his right, he was certain that he would be able to strike him down with a well aimed Avada Kedavra and blow him to little bits and pieces once and for good, in one magnificently terrible blow, without bothering with horcruxes.

He gave the bush one last suspicious glance, willing Voldemort to appear so he could have it all over and done with. Before continuing his determined stride along Benedict Lane until he came to a juncture in the road where he turned left into a narrow street called Spinner's End.

The sky was radiating with rich warm colours that marked the end of what should have been a wonderful summer's day.

Really, it should have been perfect.

A perfect day where he, for the last time would be able to see all of his friends together laughing and enjoying each others company, celebrating the bonding of two souls so obviously in love.

And it _had_ been perfect really, just for a little while;

_The back garden of The Burrow, transformed by the astonishing decorations made by the twin's ingenuity, shimmering in the bright light of the sun._

_Overflowing champagne and a ridiculous amount of mouth-watering food which had taken Mrs. Weasley weeks to prepare, leaving everyone gasping in pleasure with every new delicious flavour discovered by indulged taste buds. _

_Ginny's fiery red hair that clashed prettily against her purple dress as she walked to the altar with Gabrielle, whose dress was of the same shade, holding immense bouquets of wild- white daffodils that smelled off spring, grass and the burning sun. _

_Mr. Weasley's proud face as he looked upon his eldest son promising his vows to his soon-to-be wife, apparently stocked with a never ending supply of handkerchiefs that he handed to a blubbering Molly Weasley clinging to his arm on regular intervals._

_Fleur's snow white gown, which flowed around her like a sea of white soft petals of roses as she twirled in Bills arms when they danced for the first time as husband and wife. _

_Bills hearty laugh as he accepted congratulations and slaps on the back from his friends, while he kept gazing passionately at his wife with eyes that shone with love and devotion. _

_Countless streams of freckled redheads amongst silvery blond, accepting each other readily into their family's with pride. _

It should have been perfect, and it _had_ been, when being with Ron and Hermione, laughing and talking about nothing in particular, had made him feel happier then he had in months.

Finally able to forget the building pressure that had been resting on his shoulder- like a sleeping Hungarian Horntail with an alarm clock hanging over its head -for a couple of hours.

He hadn't thought of Voldemort, he hadn't thought of prophecies or horcruxes or about Dumbledore who should have been sitting next to Professor McGonagall with his twinkling blue eyes that penetrated souls, offering people lemon drops.

Even Percy, that humungous prat, had made the day a little more perfect by showing up, even if it was just for a short while.

He almost had it too, his one last golden day.

He hadn't cared about tomorrow or the day after that. All he knew was that moment, his attention focussing on every single perfect detail, absorbing and cherishing it with an intangible air of a man living his last minute on earth, trying to take in as many different things he could to take with him to the land of the dead.

And after that who knew?

After that he would have faced his fears, dealt with the prophecies, evil Dark Lords, and treacherous, two-faced, hooked-nosed spies.

But at least it would have been on his terms, he would have been ready.

He should have known better though. Perfect things had never lasted long in his damnable life, so why should today have been any different?

He _should_ have expected Voldemort to refuse him this, this little peace of mind, this anchor of light in the steadfastly sinking abyss that was his existence.

He trembled with unrestrained animosity as he marched on, wand clenched in his left hand, and a piece of yellowed parchment in the other, kneading the flimsy paper on the same steady beat of the grinding of his teeth. The only distinguishable sounds were of his boots echoing loudly on the paved street, as he walked resolutely along the dilapidated houses of Spinner's End.

So why _had_ he been so surprised, he mused, why _had_ _everyone_ for that matter allowed themselves to be caught off guard so badly?

Had it all just been happiness for the striking young couple, or was it that everyone had wanted this day to be perfect as badly as Harry that they had turned a blind eye to imposing danger?

The day had gone from being perfect to disastrous in a matter of seconds, when suddenly what appeared to be out of no where the Dark Mark had shimmered in luminous shades of stabbing green across the clouds, casting dark shadows over the field of bladed grass, quickly accompanied by a small army of black robed figures with white masks.

They had been brandishing their wands in quick succession, sending bright beams ricocheting all around.

It had happened so quickly and abruptly that everyone had stood frozen, then cutting shrieks of horror, fear and pain started piercing through the warm breath of the summer breeze.

It had taken him a moment to register what was going on, for his brain to catch up with what his eyes were seeing, and by then it had already been much too late.

* * *

A light gentle wind played with the leaves of the surrounding trees, rustling Harry's hair from his face, leaving his old scar standing emblazoned on his hot skin and making his deep red dress robes, which were covered in mud, flap restlessly about.

He could hear the faint rush of water from the river that lay just to the side of the cobbled road and smell the damp scent of the soiled stream as it travelled through his nostrils. He welcomed the sound of little waves crashing against the rocks on the steep banks of the river as it soon joined the ever growing uproar in his mind that overpowered the Hermione-like-voice with expected ease.

He was getting close to his quarry now, just a little father…. Number twenty-five…number twenty-seven…number twenty-nine….

_He could see people screaming helplessly, falling over and trampling each other in their haste to get away from the vivid flashes of blue and purple light that flew everywhere._

_He could see Bill and Fleur's blank stares as they fell like rocks in a heap to the ground in a haze of green light, too stunned that they didn't even have the chance to get away._

_He saw Remus, the last standing Marauder, howling with rage at the attackers, eyes flashing and changing from a deep amber to an almost glowing yellow as a severing hex hit him across his face. Soon fighting back with such ferocity that Harry would not have believed existed in the man, who was always so composed despite his Lycanthropy, if he had not seen it with his own eyes. _

_He could see blood being spilled everywhere, by people caught unawares._

_People were getting hit by curses, people unsuccessfully attempting to evade explosions and going down in a blaze of sickly light. . _

_He could see mothers anxiously trying to find their children in the confusion of chaos and the ones that succeeded quickly apparating away. _

_Others were trying to gain some order of control by assembling small opposition groups to fight off the DeathEaters with no little vehemence. _

_He heard Mrs. Weasley's terrible cry of outrage and grief, and looked on as she single handily fought off three Death Eaters after discovering that her sister too had fallen at the hand of one of the masked figures, just like Bill and Fleur._

_And he saw the sparkle of Tonks' hair changing from a mild brown to electric blue as all her clumsiness left her and her auror instincts kicked in and took over while she fought back to back with Kingsley Shacklebolt._

_He could see Ginny's broken body as she was flung several feet backwards through the fence with the force of a small cannon as she was hit by a blasting curse, a touch of a smile still playing on her lips from just seconds ago when she was laughing at a joke Fred had made. A definite hollow _thud_ followed as her head connected with the concrete wall of the house._

_And he froze._

_It was all he could do. _

_Just stood there, rooted to the spot in horror. His mind utterly blank, staring at the unmoving form of the youngest of the Weasley clan as blood started to form a crimson frame around her head like a mockery of an angel's halo._

_Everyone else had exploded into movement all at once, so many things were happening in the few seconds that had passed since the arrival of the Death Eaters._

_But he couldn't hear anything anymore; it was as if he had gone temporarily deaf. He couldn't think straight, and he was unable to move. _

_At first he thought someone must have thrown a body-bind at him, and that was why his arms and legs felt like they where made of concrete, but he couldn't remember getting hit by anything at all. And body-binds didn't make you lose your hearing._

_And then he noticed that he wasn't breathing, eyes wide and fixed on the scene in front of him as he tried to make sense of it all at once. _

"_Death Eaters?" he whispered under his breath. "What? At the Burrow, but… how? What happened to the protection shield? Scrimgeour…he assured us…he, he swore…that…that…_

"_This isn't real, this is not happening. It's a joke, a cruel horrible joke; Ginny will get up any second now, laughing at how I fell for this immense malicious joke."_

_He begged piteously, "Please let this be a joke…please not yet, I only wanted today."_

_Seconds had gone by, maybe even minutes and it was a miracle he hadn't been killed, just standing there motionless without getting hit by some ghastly curse. _

_And then a burst of sudden clarity had hit him straight in the chest with such vehemence that almost overwhelmed him as he felt his stomach roll and bile threatening to come up his throat in a sudden flood of dry heaves. _

_He still couldn't hear anything and he still wasn't breathing, and his head began to spin like a toll, spinning out of control._

_Black spots started to randomly fleck across his vision like a distortion of the brain._

_It was all so painfully clear, and he knew._

_He knew it couldn't all be some cruel joke._

_And he knew Ginny was dead._

_Gone. Forever._

_Dead._

_And he could have died right then, hit by the same curse that had lead his parents to their downfall seventeen years ago. _

_He could have died in that very moment of total clarity and would not have cared at all what became of him or of the world._

_He almost choked as his brain screamed for oxygen and his breath came back to him in a long suffering painful sob that felt as if his chest was being clawed open by long vicious nails, torn wide apart from the inside out. _

_His body trembled with the suddenness of it all, and he forgot how to breathe again for a second. His lungs started gulping in short shuddering mouthfuls of air. _

_He vaguely heard Hermione's voice urgently calling his name somewhere to his right, and someone was tugging on his arm with relentless force which was probably Ron. _

_But he couldn't form one rational thought in his overflowing mind; he had pressed everything not in his direct line of vision from his thoughts with a great shove._

_He let out an incoherent sound that vibrated out from the back of his throat and moaned wretchedly. _

"_Oh god, Fleur and Bill. No. No. Not Ginny, please. We broke up, I…you, you should have been safe! You should have been safe here at The Burrow!"_

_He started forward trying to get to her, scrambling over what felt like dead bodies. _

_He stumbled clumsily and fell more then once, a good thing too because it saved his life when he swerved unintentionally out of the range of a familiar green light, that was the same shade as his eyes._

_She was so close then that he could have touched her. _

_Her face was already losing traces of that healthy rosy colour her cheeks always sported with every passing second, her freckles standing in sharp relief against the sallow pallor of her skin and even her hair seemed to lose that fire he loved so much. _

_He crouched down beside her and reached out a trembling hand to stroke away the hair that had fallen limply across her face obscuring her features. _

_He hesitated a second, wondering with an odd detachment if her skin would already feel as cold as a dementors breath, when someone grabbed him from behind, covered his mouth with a firm grip and apparated away with the echo's of Hermione and Ron's joined startled cries of dismay ringing through his eardrums as his chest tightened in fear and the world went black before his eyes._

Shaking with uncontrollable rage he continued his way down the mismatched stones of Spinner's End. The towering mill chimney cast big shadows over the narrow street as it hovered in the nearing twilight. He was still clenching the now heavily crumpled piece of parchment in his right fist.

He stopped in front of the house which sign read _thirty-one_ in flaking letters of faded paint, the very last house that by far looked worse then all the others.

_The newly familiar feeling of being scrunched through a rubber tube had left him dazed for a few seconds too long to get his bearings when he felt the ground return under his feet._

_Just as he reached up to claw at the hands of his anonymous attacker that had been holding him so tightly, he heard the murmur of a sleeping spell being cast, and he found himself descending into darkness once more._

He had woken up in a low bush with a lingering presence of a concealment charm that had been cast over him, and a piece of parchment pushed into his left palm.

It had taken him a few seconds to orientate himself and then he had noticed that the sun was just starting to go under and he saw thick layers of black smoke coating the golden sky to his right.

And he knew he was still in Ottery St. Catchpole. If he squinted his eyes just so, he was just able to make out the top of the Burrow swallowed by licking flames before it disappeared again behind a curtain of black looming smoke.

Everything that had passed had come speeding back to him, hard and brutal like a bludger to the head. He was struck rigid by the full force of his grief for the first time.

He had no state of mind left to contemplate what had happened to him to make him wake up on the other side of the village from The Burrow rationally with all these feelings racing through him, his inner turmoil boiling hot and heavy under his skin, setting his bones afire.

He had felt all kinds of feelings he couldn't define, while thinking off Ginny, and Fleur and Bill and how they only just had been married, and if Hermione and Ron were okay and the rest of the Weasleys.

And he had wondered what had happened to Remus, Tonks, Kinsley and the other Order members. All the wedding guests, and those little kids that were playing so joyfully with the garden gnomes before.

He had just sat there staring at the palms of his hand at the piece of parchment he was still holding, as everything went through his mind at once like wires of some complicated piece of machinery twisting and turning over each other trying to reach their outlets so it could function again.

He hadn't cried though. Not even a tear.

He hadn't cried since Sirius.

Not even when Dumbledore…when Dumbledore…

Slowly the words started to seep through the thick fog of his thoughts and he tightened his grip on the paper and gasped as he read:

_The secret hide out of Severus Snape can be found at Spinners End number 31._

He had almost torn the parchment in two as he had snapped out of his stupor and jumped up.

"Snape!" he had cried out stupidly.

And slowly those unidentifiable feelings had started to make sense and form themselves into a simmering heat gaining intensity every second longer he stared at the name of the man he had loathed for so many years.

The boiling under his skin flared up as he gave a focus to all those feelings blazing and burning through his very being.

It felt as if his body was an inferno, and he could almost imagine rings of smoke pouring out his ears and puffing from his nostrils like a fire breathing dragon.

It was unadulterated rage, which he felt then, fury he had never ever experienced in his entire life in this intensity before, and he felt a silent pang when he couldn't feel that gaping hole that had been growing ever so slow since Cedric had died.

And then had grown steadily wider when Sirius had fallen through the veil, and wider still when Dumbledore had been murdered.

The hole that had been slowly healing in a cloud of contentment and joy just a few hours ago, had been ripped open mercilessly along the still healing seems.

And he had felt it growing again silently but surely, causing coldness to leak into his heart with a steady drip where Ginny used to be, and Bill and Fleur.

He made his decision there and then as he was blinded by rage, numb with the fire of fury that took control over his entire body, and stood up without stopping to think sensibly what it meant that he woke up under a bush unharmed after being taken from the sight of a Death Eater attack by some stranger, with Snape's address scribbled hastily on a piece of paper placed in his hand.

He hadn't cared.

No, he hadn't cared at all.

It had probably been some Order member anyway, hiding him there to get him out of harms way. And they probably had known he would have wanted revenge and helpfully provided him with the address of the man, he had convinced himself easily, disregarding the little buzzing of the Hermione-like-voice as it flared up in one last futile attempt to get through to him.

Yes that must have been it, either way he hadn't given a shit.

He had walked out from underneath the cover from the bush he was sitting under to the edge of the street and had noticed for the first time that there were Muggles walking around.

Well, that's just too bad, he had thought savagely and ignored them completely, as he apparated away to pay Severus Snape a visit.

He barely spared a glance for the Muggles he had frightened by his abrupt appearance, and had stormed off menacingly, finally having a focus for all his flaring rage.

And that's how he got here, standing in front of Spinner's End, number thirty-one. Seething and fuming with unruly anger.

_Someone_ was going to suffer for this, he told himself as he took in the state of the house with disgust, noticing the boarded up windows, and the filthy looking curtain of the one unbroken window directly in front of him that was drawn closed.

And Snape deserved _a lot_ of suffering.

If it hadn't been for _Snape_, he thought bitterly, Dumbledore would have still been alive and none of this would have happened. Ginny would still be alive, and Bill and Fleur would still be dancing together, and everyone would have been happy and he…

He would have had his perfect day, he was sure of it.

Yes, it had all been _Snape's _fault, he thought irrationally, and pointed his wand at the wooden door.

A surge of malicious wrath coursed from his body through his wand arm, it trickled through his veins and blood.

He felt it moving and he could pin point the exact moment it flowed through his hand and then through his fingers out of his wand destroying the door utterly in a blazing light of pure white as if it were nothing but a flimsy twig.

He saw a red light flicker briefly on the outlines of the little house before dying out as he stepped over the remains of the broken door and stepped in to the house of Severus Snape.


	2. Uninvited

**Chapter 2 **Uninvited

The room he had stepped into was silent and pitch black. Wand held out in front of him, he let his eyes adjust to the dark of the room as he walked in further. Harry swept his gaze around and found himself in a small sitting room. The little furniture there was all looked as old and decrepit as the house itself;

The sofa was threadbare and on it lay a thin raffled blanket. The rickety table in front of it missed a leg that was practically substituted by a pile of big and aged looking tomes.

More books were covering every available surface of the walls, and the floor was set with wood that looked like someone had held a mud wrestling tournament recently and hadn't bothered to clean up, and instead had let the mud dry and congeal.

The room was deserted, and didn't seem to have any adjoining rooms, which Harry thought was odd because it had looked bigger from the outside. He searched for the stairs that should bring him to the second landing, but couldn't find any, although he was _sure_ there definitely should be some.

Harry walked nearer to one of the walls to inspect it more closely, certain that he was missing some major clue and ran his hand over the spines of the books. He grimaced when his hand came away with a thick layer of dust.

He was about to turn around and walk to the other side of the room when he heard it.

It was barely audible but he was certain he had heard _something_ rustle on the other side of the wall.

He scrunched his face up in concentration and pressed his ear against the wall listening for any sound in the seemingly quiet room.

Yes, there it was again but more clearly now; a soft swoosh of a cloak and the whisper of a breath being stifled. He had spent too many nights hiding from Filch in dank broom closets, making the exact same noises, to mistake it for anything else.

Someone was definitely standing on the other side of the wall.

He scanned the row of books suspiciously; his eyes falling on a particularly old leather-bound book coloured in shades of brown. It was bigger than most of the other books, and it stuck out just a little bit over the edge of the shelf.

You wouldn't have noticed it if you weren't looking, but Harry was sure that there was something more to the book than met the eye.

He could _just_ make out the title that was squiggled in a tiny loopy scrawl;

"_A Wizard's Way to the heart of The Darkest Curses; In the tongue of the Ancient"_

He leaned in closer, to take a better look and noticed that three words were written in a slightly different hue than the other words.

"_**A** Wizard's **Way **to the heart of The Darkest Curses; **In** the tongue of the Ancient"_

"A – Way – In ..." he read out loud before he could stop himself.

He soon realised his mistake when suddenly the wall slid open with a loud bang and something hard slammed into him with full force, succeeding in knocking him off his feet.

His head slammed against the rotting wood of the floor, but he didn't feel it as the simmering rage that still possessed him flared up and adrenaline pumped through his veins. His attacker landed on top of him, crushing the breath out of him, and immediately started dealing heavy blows to his head with what felt like an iron kettle.

Harry was so stunned with disbelief at what was happening that he didn't move for a couple of seconds, taking blow upon blow.

This was ridiculous! The Dark Lord's new right hand man was attacking him like a common Muggle, roaring in his ear like some village idiot! Snape, of all people was trying to kill him with his fists?

He blinked.

The absurdity took on new levels the longer he thought about it, and his lips started to twitch as the black hooded figure kept shrieking his warrior cry and slamming his fists. A bubble of laughter escaped Harry's lips, which soon turned into a full blown cackle that sounded disconcerting even to his own ears as he felt blood pouring down his face. But he couldn't help himself, it was just too bizarre.

He could feel Snape shift above him and hesitate as he noticed that Harry wasn't cowering in fear, but laughing like a maniac. The blows had stopped falling, and the ludicrous screaming had faltered as the body resting its weight on him sat stock still, iron kettle held high above his head in a downwards motion that never came.

Harry just threw his head back and laughed even louder, wheezing dangerously out of breath.

"Did you actually…did you honestly… Oh god," he gasped between fits of angry giggles peering at the dark clad figure sat frozen a top him between narrow slits.

"Don't tell me you thought you could beat me to death, when I still have my wand," he continued once he had some control over himself, twirling his wand provocatively between his fingers like a marionette. "Or where you deliberately going for death by laughter?"

He rolled his eyes impatiently when Snape didn't respond, but just kept on gaping foolishly. The blood that was still pouring down his face started to block his vision.

In one swift movement, he brought up the arm that was holding his wand and flicked his wrist with practised ease, successfully knocking Snape off of him with a spell, and got up, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve.

Harry could not believe his luck. Here he was. The man he had been searching for since Dumbledore's death was standing before him.

He kept his wand carefully aimed at the figure now scrambling to its feet; this was still Snape after all. He may have gone nuts and taken up Muggle fighting since he'd left Hogwarts, but Harry knew from experience that Snape was a skilled duellist, and would not push his luck.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, not liking the fact that it had been this easy to get Snape at wand point. He remembered the day of Dumbledore's murder, when he had run after Snape and found all his spells blocked effortlessly.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" he snarled viciously, closing in on the figure before him. "Or do you always greet your guests this way?" he mocked, gesturing to the iron kettle now resting at his feet, his voice going dangerously low.

No response.

"Well no matter," he continued after a while. "You're nothing but a filthy Death Eater," he spat nastily. "I'm going to avenge Dumbledore's death, starting with you."

He took another step closer and demanded "Where is your wand? Why don't you show yourself, you coward!"

Snape spat in his face defiantly, standing firm with his back straight, still not speaking.

Eyes darkening in fury to an almost impossible black as he wiped at his face to remove the spittle, Harry closed the distance between them with two quick strides.

He touched his wand to the hooded head of the man in front of him, noticing that they were the same height now, and brought his face close to the other and whispered cruelly,

"You are nothing but scum under my shoe, an utter waste on the face of the earth; no one loves or cares about you. You are alone now, utterly alone, and no one will give a shit about your broken body when I'm through with you."

Snape gasped and tried to press himself back into the wall as Harry descended upon him with all his pent up rage and magic pouring in waves around him in a growing whirl.

"You won't be more then a stain on people's memories, tainting their minds. Everyone will be glad the Death Eater that walked free behind the walls of Hogwarts is dead."

He was breathing hard, face contorted in a livid sneer as he pushed even closer, he could feel the man's heart beating rapidly and smell the faint sweat from his body.

"Your _precious _Lord won't even care if you live or die; you are just another tool to him, a _slave_ attending to his every whim a stepping-stone to _step_ on and crush underneath a boot heel when he has no use for you anymore."

He raged on, not able to process logically in his mind that Snape, the oh-so cruel and heartless _Death Eater_ was almost _cowering_ before him.

"You should have died, you know..." he said softly, almost pleasantly. By now Snape was shaking, deep sickening tremors that were visibly coursing through his body. Harry revelled in the power he was feeling over the person in front of him. All he had to do was say the words, say the words and Snape would fall before him in a crumpling heap.

Festering hatred for Snape took over his mind as he thought of all those years he was tormented and ridiculed, thought of the way this man had been able to make him feel worthless and stupid and oh-so very angry, this man that had provoked Sirius so successfully, this man that had betrayed Dumbledore without a trace of remorse as he had uttered the killing curse. He thought of Ginny, and Bill and Fleur who had fallen by the hands of people like Snape and raised his wand to the middle of the man's for head.

"- on that night so many years ago, you should have died," he said breathlessly.

"My father… he…he never should have saved you!" he continued in a ferocious roar.

Time seemed to slow down then, and he called upon that feeling deep inside him he had ignored for so many years when he chose Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. That little bit of darkness that had been sitting dormant in the gut of his stomach ever since he had tried to curse Bellatrix with the Cruciatus Curse.

He could feel magic crackle around him that was making his hair stand up straight, and his eyes changed from a jade green to a murky black as he started to whisper the beginnings of the killing curse.

"Avada K-

He flicked the piece of cloth covering the man's face away quickly with his free hand; he wanted to look into Snape's eyes as he died. He needed to see the stone black gaze of his former professor go out of focus, needed to see the life drain out of his eyes and eventually go blank, until they were nothing but two black marbles glazed over looking back at him, unseeing. But most of all he needed to know that he would be the last thing Snape would ever see.

Harry's eyes widened in shock as he gazed not into black, but grey, translucent eyes that were equally wide in terror.

His wand arm faltered and the words of the killing curse died on his lips as he stood face to face with Draco Malfoy.

"M- Malfoy?" he stuttered feebly.

Malfoy tried to gather himself quickly, closing his face off of all the emotion Harry had seen so visibly on his uncovered face.

"As eloquent as ever I see," he sneered after a pause, but the desired effect was ruined by his trembling limbs. Harry was actually pretty impressed that he was able to keep his voice steady at all.

Harry just gaped at him in reply.

"Well aren't you going to kill me? Please get on with it, will you!" Malfoy snapped, his eyes betraying his anxiety as they flickered between Harry's face and the wand still aimed at him.

"Malfoy?" Harry repeated incredulously, not able to comprehend what he was seeing.

"Potter." Malfoy sneered again, this time more successfully, dragging the name out as if it were something dirty.

"You're….you're not Snape…." Harry stated more to himself than to anyone else.

"Great deduction Potter, I hadn't realised that my, wait…wait a minute….what?" Malfoy suddenly stopped mid-sentence, staring blankly at Harry for a second before his face started to contort in palpable anger.

"Are you telling me Potter," he growled dangerously, "that you thought I was Snape all this time? All those things you said weren't about me but about _Snape_?"

Harry looked at him. "Well….yes, I…" he began weakly.

"_What_?" Malfoy shrieked, forgetting completely about the wand that was still aimed at him. He started forward stabbing his finger hard into Harry's chest with each word;

"You…." _stab_ "-thought…." _stab_ "-I…." _stab_ "-was…." _stab_ "-Snape?" _stab, stab_.

Harry took an involuntary step backwards in surprise at Malfoy's sudden outburst.

"I…." he began weakly, clearly flustered, but he was cut off again.

"I was confused about what you said at the end, something about your father and… and _you_…" Malfoy hissed between his teeth "You almost _killed_ me…again!"

Malfoy quickly realised that had been the wrong thing to say, and his indignant anger left as quickly as it had come, as he deflated upon seeing Harry's face.

Harry's face had hardened instantly, his eyes going back to that frightening black, and he bared his teeth as he remembered exactly who was standing in front of him.

He jabbed Malfoy in the head hard with his wand, making sure he would not forget who was in control here.

"How…how dare you!" he growled incredulously.

"Almost killed you, _almost_ killed you? You mean like you _almost_ killed Katie Bell and Ron? You mean like the time you _almost _killed innocent students and people by letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts? Or did you mean like how you _almost_ killed Dumbledore on the tower?" he demanded.

Malfoy paled and flinched back as if Harry had slapped him hard across the face.

"I _saw _you Malfoy! I know what you did, I know it was you who did all those things, and I knew it was you all year but no one believed me when I tried to warn them of you!

"I _should _probably kill you; it's practically as much your fault Dumbledore died as it is Snape's, if it isn't even more - in fact, give me one good reason not to!"

He aimed his wand to Malfoy's temple threateningly, his eyes flashing and his breath coming in quick successions.

Malfoy paled even further, which almost seemed impossible at this point and avoided Harry's eyes, looking at his shoe's as if they were the most interesting thing ever.

"I…Potter, look I didn't … I hadn't meant for, I mean, look-" he took a deep breath and forced himself to look up.

"He had my parents! My mother. He was going to kill her, he…he was going to kill her Potter! Don't you see," he said feverishly, looking into Harry's eyes, almost pleadingly willing Harry to understand. "Don't you understand Potter? I didn't have a choice! You of all people should understand!"

He just looked at Malfoy hard, piercing him with his eyes that were still a dancing pool of black and green, making Malfoy more nervous by the second.

The problem was that Harry did understand, and hated himself for it.

He understood it perfectly.

He understood what had made Malfoy do those horrible things.

And he knew what it meant that Malfoy hadn't gone through with it in the very end. It meant that he couldn't kill Malfoy. It meant that _he_ couldn't go through with it in the end either.

And he hated it.

Snape wasn't here. The only person he could vent his rage and get his revenge on was Malfoy.

Malfoy, who on closer inspection looked gaunt and thinner than he had ever seen him. Malfoy, who had always looked so immaculate and aristocratic, now had dirt smeared across his face, his hair falling wildly, wearing frayed robes. Malfoy, who was staring at him intently with those searching eyes, licking his cracked lips anxiously, waiting for Harry's answer.

Harry understood about family.

He realised he would have done anything to get his parents back, just like Malfoy had done anything to save his.

Looking at Malfoy now, so helpless and obviously frightened (although he would never have admitted it), Harry was not able to find the energy that had been fuelling his blinding rage anymore. Instead he felt a wave of weariness take over him, and he could feel the pain that those usually indifferent eyes reflected.

"I do understand Malfoy," he said softly and slowly he lowered his wand to his side. He heard Malfoy let out a breath he wasn't aware Malfoy had been holding, and his face smoothed out again, getting rid of the crinkles that had started to form near the edge of his eyes.

They stared at each other for a long minute, neither of them wanting to break the rare understanding between them.

"Why are you here? This _is _Snape's house isn't it? Harry asked carefully.

Malfoy scrunched up his nose in an indignant Malfoy-ish way, looking around the room in obvious contempt that for once wasn't directed at Harry as he said in an even voice, "Yes it is, he took me here and locked me up. He said it was for my protection. He also took my wand."

"Ah, that explains the kettle then," Harry said lightly, unprepared for the death glare that was soon sent his way.

"Did you think I enjoyed that Potter?" Malfoy snapped. "How was I supposed to know it was you and not some Death Eater? The Dark Lord is not exactly pleased with me now, is he?"

"What do you mean he's not pleased? Dumbledore's dead, isn't he? Wasn't that what last year was all about, some way to get to Dumbledore instead of me for a change?" Harry said bitterly.

"It was my assignment, _mine_, and not Snape's." Malfoy sighed loudly. "You really don't get it, do you Potter? The Dark Lord never meant for me to succeed. He wanted me to fail, so he could kill me and my mother to punish my father for his failure in retrieving the prophecy."

Harry just looked at him.

"I _failed_ Potter, I didn't kill Dumbledore!" Malfoy snapped impatiently. "Snape did it, not me, I was too damn weak and I failed!" He balled his hands into fists and stared pointedly at the wall just above Harry's head.

"I…I…failed…" Malfoy repeated more quietly this time. "And now my mother…she's…" he stopped as soon as he heard his voice breaking.

"Malfoy," Harry said. "I'm…I'm sorry."

And he was.

He even surprised himself at how sincere he was. No one deserved to lose a parent, and definitely not like that. Not even Draco Malfoy, the spoiled, evil, mean bully. Not even the son of a Death Eater.

Malfoy's eyes seemed to turn into steel as he glowered at him, his defence mechanism kicking back in.

"I don't want your pity, Potter. I bet you think it's really fucking hilarious don't you? Now that I am practically an orphan like you after all those years I made fun of how you always were 'perfect little orphaned Potter'?" he spat.

"My mother is dead, my father rotting away in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Don't you think I _deserve_ it Potter?" he snarled viciously.

"_What_..?" Harry said weakly.

"You heard me Potter, I bet you're glad. I bet you can't wait to run back to the Weasel and Weaslette and that stupid Mudblood bitch to laugh about it together!"

Harry pressed his lips together in a tight line, body tensing at the mention of the Weasleys, berating himself for ever feeling sympathy for Draco Malfoy.

"I'm not like you Malfoy," he growled under his breath.

"Of course you're not," Malfoy said sarcastically. "After all, you _are_ Perfect Potter, aren't you? Always doing the right thing, feeling compassion and _love_ for everyone and anything.

"But oh wait, there was this one thing I heard my Aunt Bella say," Malfoy cocked his head to the side as if he was figuring something out. "She said that Baby Potty tried to curse her with Cruciatus after she killed that mutt you called a godfather," he mocked cruelly. "Not so perfect after all, are you?"

It happened so fast that Harry didn't even know _what_ had happened until he felt his fist connect with the side of Malfoy's face. He was so angry with Malfoy, and himself, that he lashed out as quick as lightening, his fist already descending in another blow to Malfoy's eye - his wand forgotten in his other hand.

Malfoy was prepared for the second one and swerved to the left, evading the blow effectively while bringing up his own fist and hitting Harry hard in the stomach. He doubled over in pain, and Malfoy kicked his legs out underneath him.

Harry scrambled for something to hold on to, dropping his wand and brought Malfoy down to the ground with him as he tore at Malfoy's cloak.

They rolled on the floor kicking, punching and biting each other hard wherever they could get to, until they bumped into the table, which wobbled unstably as its substitute leg gave way.

Harry was on top of Malfoy now, and was thumping him hard across the face repeatedly until blood was flowing freely from his nose.

Malfoy then felt around on the ground until he found a heavy looking tome just to his right, and brought it up in a swift motion, clobbering Harry in the back of the head.

Harry fell off Malfoy with a howl of pain, and just lay there for a few seconds, dazed.

And then Malfoy was back on his feet, swaying like a drunk, walking around, turning his head this way and that as if searching for something.

Harry's eyes widened when he saw that Malfoy had found what he was looking for.

Harry's wand.

It was lying near the narrow passageway Malfoy had come out from before. He quickly scrabbled up on his hands and knees trying to get there before Malfoy. But Malfoy was much closer than he was, and he knew he wasn't going to make it. He desperately searched for something to defend himself with, casting frantically about for anything at all.

And then he saw the iron kettle in the shadow of the couch and went to it quickly, he grabbed it intending to hurl it at Malfoy, but as soon as he turned around he saw Malfoy standing there with a gleeful expression on his face, pointing his wand at him.

"Well, well, well, I guess the roles have been turned," he drawled lazily looking pointedly at Harry and then to the iron kettle he was clenching in his fist.

"Give it back Malfoy!"

"I will do no such thing."

"What are you going to do, kill me like you tried to kill Dumbledore?" Harry spat viciously, remembering the way Malfoy had wavered on top of the tower.

Malfoy's face darkened, as he understood what Harry was referring to.

"No, you are right of course. I won't kill you Potter," he said softly, his voice almost gentle.

"What I will do though, is turn you in. The Dark Lord will be pleased. I may not have been able to save my mother, but I will not let my father die! And after I've delivered you to him, he will get my father out of Azkaban, I know he will!" Malfoy said feverishly, needing to believe his own words.

"Malfoy, don't do this! You don't know what he will do, the man is mad!"

"He _will _get my father out of prison, Potter. You won't be able to tell me otherwise," Malfoy said, his voice shaking lightly the wand in his hand trembling.

"Malfoy…please, you don't want to do this. You are not like them!" It sounded stupid even to him; of course Malfoy was like them! He was the splitting image of his father; he just needed some practice, Harry thought bitterly.

Malfoy laughed darkly at that. "You don't mean that, Potter, and you're wrong anyway. I am everything like them."

Harry desperately looked into Malfoy's eyes, searching for the boy that was standing before him just minutes before. The one that had felt the loss of his mother, the one that couldn't kill Dumbledore on the tower, the one he had seen crying in Moaning Myrtles bathroom. He couldn't find him, he wasn't there anymore.

And then there he was for just a second.

"I…I'm sorry Potter. I don't have a choice," Malfoy said in a voice that almost genuinely sounded like regret.

And then he was gone again. Harry wanted to scream at him, he wanted to hurl things at him, hurt him. Anything to get through to him again, to make him see reason. But as he looked into Malfoy's ice-grey eyes, and saw the way his jaw was set into a determined line, he knew it was a lost cause, so he just closed his eyes in defeat.

He didn't see the tear that escaped Malfoy's eye as he muttered the spell that would send him into darkness for the second time that day.


	3. Going Numb

**Chapter 3. Going Numb**

_Harry was flying._

_He was flying high above the clouds without a broom. Soaring above rooftops and trees with his arms spread out in front of him, trying to hold the sky in the palms of his hands._

_The wind was caressing his face gently and he closed his eyelids as he went faster and faster to everywhere and nowhere, just floating along the steady current of the wind that took him further away. The same feeling of exhilaration that he always felt during quidditch took over his body, and his mind felt calm and content as he kept on drifting. _

_He was flying._

_He was flying for what felt like hours and hours, and he felt he could fly like this forever if that should be his fate._

_Then suddenly he felt a shift in the air in front of him, and he heard the whizzing of something rushing at him really fast. He tried to open his eyes quickly to see what it was but couldn't, and the thing, whatever it was, kept on speeding towards him. He wanted to change course and get out of the way, but the more he struggled the faster the wind brought him closer. _

_He could feel it close now, it was sending off waves of cutting cold that pierced right through his skin. The noise was almost deafening as it zoomed through the open sky, the coldness seeping into his bones with every second. _

_He was literally frozen, limbs numb and teeth clattering frantically when it hit him square in the chest. The impact was enough to break him into countless little pieces._

_He shattered._

Harry's eyes flew wide open as he was forcedly woken, his back arching off the ground. He could hear his own voice screaming relentlessly as blinding whiteness swam before his vision like a cloud trying to confound him. The surreal feeling of being but one shard of a thousand pieces that should never have been parted tore at his insides, and he could not stifle the fearful thought that he was lost forever, that the pieces wouldn't fit anymore if they put him back together.

As quick as it had come the grip that clenched his heart in a silent fury dulled to a soft spike that never quite left, but continued to wrack his body with variable tremors.

He tried to catch his breath and look around to see where he was when the edges of his peripheral vision started to focus, but as soon as his sight had cleared he was confronted by the horrible truth of reality.

He was greeted by a goading line of sharp teeth that looked predatory, ready to shred steel if defied, its owner simpering at him.

He had seen the man before of course, but never had he spared him anything more then an indifferent indication of recognition. It had at the time merely been a confirmation of what he had expected to be true, that he had been a Death Eater. He had seen the obvious relation between father and son; the same bulky built, the same bristle hair on the same square features, the same proportioned arms that looked like a gorillas. But never had he expected Goyle to look so unlike his son as he did now.

The man that stood before him did not, _could _not have given Gregory Goyle that look of ceaseless bewilderment that constantly dominated his face. Harry could not believe that this man that was towering over him, casting large shadows over his huddled body, was the same man that he always believed had passed stupidity on to his son. Just like Harry had assumed he had passed on the status of being a Malfoy lapdog.

He looked into eyes, that weren't blank like Gregory's but cruel and devious like a man of calculation, eyes that glinted with the wildness of an animal, unpredictable and feral but also aware and intelligent.

Harry was overcome by a flood of terror that washed through him; it drenched his soul in fear and drowned his thoughts into deep, black, terrifying pools of realization.

Malfoy had done it.

Malfoy had actually done it! He had brought him to the Death Eaters, he had brought him to die.

A life for a life.

Lucius Malfoy's for his.

"Yes, terrifying isn't it?" Goyle Senior's low, rumbling voice echoed through the open space. He leered, at the fear displayed on Harry's face. "Knowing you're dead, knowing you soon will be nothing more than dust floating aimlessly about." he continued as if plucking his very thoughts directly from his mind.

"I must say it's an absolute pleasure meeting you here under these wonderful circumstances," Goyle Senior mocked. "I never thought that Malfoy boy had it in him," he mused aloud, his voice transforming into a soft wonder and his eyes going just a bit out of focus. "Always was a weak one that boy, fragile and pale like a sickly child. Not like my Gregory no, certainly not as tough as _my_ son."

Goyle Senior paced a short while away from him; brow creased and lips tight over his teeth, his movements surprisingly agile for a man his size.

Harry allowed his head to turn slightly to have a closer look at his surroundings. What he saw surprised him, he expected to be in some dank grotto far below where vermin and rats relished in the dark. A place where Death Eaters scuttled together, traded dark curses and wilted anything that dared to bring light and humanity.

What he found instead was an ostentatious assembly room tinted in shades of dark purple that could have been mistaken for black in the gloom, accented with silver and gold detail. The walls were ornamented with long drapes that fell from the ceiling to the floor, and from the canopy that hung above a vast table suited for kings were suspended innumerable candles that flickered in the dimness of the room. He noticed he was lying on a low, raised dais situated behind one of the table ends. They were alone, but Harry saw that the table was decked with silverware and goblets as if waiting for a feast to begin, some kind of celebration.

Dawning horror brought his deliberation of his surroundings to a stuttering halt; of course they had something to celebrate.

He was their cause of celebration.

The long strived-for capture of The Boy Who Lived, the last obstacle soon to be cleared.

Unadulterated dread accumulated in the pit of his stomach, he shivered and felt the hair on his neck prickle.

It wasn't so much fear for himself that he felt; it was fear for being the only thing that stood between Voldemort. Fear for the world that would be created and the destruction that would follow.

Fear of having failed everyone, Dumbledore and Sirius. Fear of having failed his parents who had sacrificed their lives for his life.

Fear of being a failure.

He couldn't let it happen, he couldn't let it end this way.

In a spur of energy and desperation he forced his aching body up and surged to the door, his captor being but a minor hindrance in his fright.

"Conglacio suffundo!" Goyle Senior barked as he whirled around to the sudden movement, lashing his wand as if it were a whip. A beam of ice blue infused with an impossible white exploded from the end of Goyle Senior's wand.

Harry screamed as pain immediately erupted in his body, traveling from his every limb directly to his heart. He fell to the floor in a flailing tangle of limbs, his head grazing the edge of the door handle he had been about to grasp a second before. The biting coldness he had experienced earlier returned in full force and the feeling of every cell in his body being stripped apart dominated his senses.

This must have been the curse that had awoken him; it must have been, because he felt he was shattering all over again. He could feel his bones splintering slowly as if taunting him, wanting to drag out the excruciating cracking of his foundation. Harry pressed his eyes shut tightly; he was so impossibly cold, that he felt like he would split apart any second now.

Goyle finally relented and Harry immediately felt his limbs sag as the tension of breaking point subsided to a dull throb that made his muscles spasm on every odd heartbeat.

Silence.

Only the sound of Harry's ragged breathing filled the air as seconds stretched into minutes.

Slowly he unclenched his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't.

He let out a groan as everything swirled and swiveled before his eyes like a band of out of control belly dancers. He felt light-headed and dizzy, felt blood pouring down his face from some where near his temple in a steady stream drizzling down his neck and robes. Harry brought his hands up to his head and cradled it with his arms, soaking his sleeves with the red of his blood.

He could see Goyle Senior standing some where to his right, scrutinizing him in silence with beady brown eyes as if Harry was some otherworldly specimen.

"Ah yes, foolishly brave. A true Gryffindor." Goyle murmured. He stepped close to Harry looming over him, grasping his ink black hair in a vice-like grip.

Harry gasped and flinched back instinctively, only succeeding in making the hold on his hair tighter. He was violently dragged to his feet, Goyle Senior's face so close to his that Harry could smell his acrid breath on his cheek as his face was turned side ways so Goyle Senior could inspect his wound.

"Oh no, this won't do at all, you need to look nice and pretty for when my master arrives." Goyle brought his wand up and healed his cut with a whispered word, then siphoned the already drying blood from his face and robes.

"V-Voldemort is here?" Harry hated how pathetic he sounded, his voice raw and weak from screaming and hours of disuse.

The hand descended upon his cheek in a rush, leaving a red print stinging on his cheek.

"You will not speak his name, of all the insolence…!" Goyle Senior growled dangerously.

At that Harry's eyes flashed in defiance, he pressed his lips shut into a tight line.

"_The Dark Lord_ is indeed here, he is getting ready for the feast as we speak." Goyle Senior continued in a pleasant voice, as if he hadn't just slapped Harry, as if he was explaining something to a stupid child.

"Draco did a fine job, coming to me with this. I of course knew of the Dark Lord's whereabouts and informed him immediately," he told Harry in a proud voice, trailing his stubby thumb over Harry's lightning bolt scar. Harry shivered.

"Delivering you to my master in exchange for Lucius was a sly move indeed," Goyle Senior sneered, a malevolent glint caught in his eye.

"However, no one haggles with The Dark Lord. He will be rewarded _accordingly_." He spoke his last words with a vicious glee, like a man who knew something you didn't and refused to inform you.

Before Harry had time to ask anything else, Goyle Senior clapped his hands twice and two House Elves appeared instantly by his side.

The smaller of the two had a muddy brown tinge to his leathery skin, big floppy ears that flapped back and forth as he moved with eyes as round as neon saucers.

The other looked like his skin was made of graying sandpaper; he looked the elder of the two, with grizzled white hair that sprouted out of his bat-like ears and nose, his eyes a glowing yellow which Harry found eerie in the shaded light.

They both wore what looked like dark blue elf robes, but on closer inspection Harry saw that the fabric was probably cut out of an old curtain or bed sheet.

Goyle Senior's face contorted in disgust as he looked down upon the two frightened elves cowering at his feet.

"Dazle!" Goyle Senior roared needlessly. "Escort Mr. Potter to his proper place and make sure he _stays_ there." he snapped.

"Yes sir, Goyle sir, right away sir." the smaller elf stammered in a tiny voice while bowing so low his nose touched the floor.

"And you," Goyle turned around and looked at the older elf. "You, Bing, will let our guests know that our _guest_ _of honor_ has finally awoken" he sneered at Harry for effect, "and that the feast is ready to begin."

"Yes, Master Goyle sir, Bing is letting the other masters know right away sir." The older elf said far more composed than the other, and vanished with a pop.

Goyle Senior raked his eyes over Dazle who kept on bowing repeatedly, his nose too low to notice he was being scrutinized.

"Well?" Goyle Senior shouted menacingly after a few seconds making the small elf jump and tremble from top to toe.

"Y-y-yes Master Goyle sir, Dazle is a good house elf sir."

"GET ON WITH IT!" Goyle Senior roared, giving the elf a good push with a quick spell so that it toppled over hard.

At the same moment a loud crash resounded in the hall just outside the door followed by agitated voices arguing heatedly. It sounded like a man arguing with a house elf about something that could not be made out. Harry recognized the voice of the man immediately. He would have been able to tell that voice apart anywhere, he had after all heard it for six years. That sarcastic, mocking voice that always sounded like it was disgusted with something, which usually would be Harry.

Harry stood immobile, eyes wide open listening to the voices that had gotten so loud now that he was able to make out certain words.

"…stupid elf!"

"S-s-sorry master Snape sir, I is sorry sir, I is cleaning it up right away sir," the elf stammered helplessly.

Snape.

Snape was just outside the door, the man he had been trying to kill just a few hours ago, and he couldn't do anything about it. Now that his rage and grief were not controlling him anymore he could clearly see that making another run toward the door and jumping his ex-professor would get him nowhere. Well, nowhere other than dead.

No, the main thing he needed to focus on right now was getting the hell out of here, and soon.

"I can not believe it…I will not have my Master's feast ruined, he will arrive any minute now," Goyle Senior grumbled under his breath clearly annoyed. He cleared his throat and continued.

"I will make sure everything is well, Dazle when I get back, I want Potter to be tied up on the dais!" he whirled around and stormed out of the room slamming the door shut.

"What is the meaning of th-" the rest of his voice was droned out by the scuttle of cutlery and broken glass.

Dazle jumped up and rushed towards Harry, grabbed his hand and started dragging him to the dais. He followed the elf for a second, but as soon as he realized what he was doing he started struggling. "Let me go, let me go!" he breathed. They passed the end of the big table and in an attempt to slow the elf down Harry grabbed the edge of it and held on with all his might. "Let- go- of - me!" he breathed.

He had to find a way to escape, and this might be the only chance he would get. He looked around the room for a window or maybe another door. If only he had his wand he could just simply apparate out of here. Think damnit, he told himself, but it was kind of distracting having an elf pull at you.

"Please Mister Potter, quickly we haven't much time sir, Dazle was given an order, very important sir!" pleaded the elf, it tugged on his sleeve hard.

"I'm not going to help you tie me up to the dais." said Harry, still holding on to the table.

"Sir, please we is need to do it now sir please, Master said specifically to do it now." squeaked Dazle. "Master won't be pleased, oh no not pleased at all." moaned Dazle pitifully.

"I don't care what your Master wants!" Harry shouted angrily, stubbornly holding on to the edge of the table.

"Mr. Potter sir leaves me no choice." The elf said with real regret in his voice, glancing fearfully at the door where angry voices still could be heard.

Dazle snapped his fingers and Harry instantly stiffened up like a board his arms stuck like glue to the sides of his body and his legs snapped shut, the only thing that he was able to move were his eyes that frantically searched out the little elf's face.

He then was floated right onto the dais and with another snap of Dazle's fingers iron chains surrounded his ankles and wrists painfully.

"Masters says give this to Mr. Potter right away sir, Master will be very displeased with Dazle if Dazle forgets." The elf rambled on. "Very important, most important task Dazle gets ever, Master told Dazle."

The elf looked around suspiciously with its round watery eyes as if to make sure no one was looking even though no one else but them were in the room, then plunged its long spidery fingers into the cloth he was wearing, taking out an old-looking pendant made of gold.

Harry couldn't really take a good look at it because of the uncomfortable angle he was lying in. But he could feel the heaviness and coldness of the jewelry on his skin when the elf conjured a necklace to go with it and hung it over his head and then covered it up under his red dress robes.

Thoroughly confused Harry looked up to the elf who was frantically hopping from foot to foot, wringing his bat-like ears in his hands nervously, eyes darting to the door, where the shouting had dropped considerately but a low hum of voices still could be heard speaking.

"What are you doing, what is this thing you gave me?" Harry shouted outraged and frightened. He could feel the buzz of dark magic radiating from the pendant, it was sinking into his skin and making him more nauseated by the second. He started struggling against his bonds uselessly.

"Dazle is running out of time sir, Mr. Potter _must_ listen!"

The voices outside the door started to quiet even more, and footsteps could be heard coming back towards the room.

"Get this filthy thing off me!"

"Mr. Potter sir, Dazle can't. Strict orders!" the elf looked at Harry with real regret which struck Harry dumb and made him stop his struggling.

"_Listen…"_ the Elf looked at the door then rushed forward even closer to Harry if that was even possible and started whispering frantically in his ear as the door handle started to move and the door opened slowly.

"_Listen_ for the seventh chime of the hours, and let your soul not cloud in darkness for you'd be lost forever and ever and ever." The elf was practically begging Harry, its eyes pleading with Harry willing him to understand.

"What are you talking about, I don't understand_-_" Harry started, thoroughly bewildered but was cut off by Dazle's anxious voice.

"_Listen for the seventh chime…" _it pleaded one last time, before the door swung open and Goyle Senior stepped in the room once again. Dazle disappeared with a pop.

Goyle turned and looked at Harry, the corner of his mouth turning upwards as soon as he saw that he was successfully tied up to the dais.

"That elf finally managed to do something right I see." He sneered at Harry.

Harry, who was still very much confused, just pressed his lips together and refrained from commenting. His mind racing and mulling over the things Dazle had told him.

Getting no response from Harry, Goyle Senior quickly lost interest and started looking over the room one last time to make sure everything was ready for his master's arrival.

The seventh chime of the hours? Harry thought restlessly, what had that stupid elf been rambling about? The pendant he had been given was making him feel more uncomfortable by the minute, he could feel its heaviness weighing him down and the black magic pouring over his skin spreading like a disease.

How was he supposed to concentrate and think of a way to escape with this thing on, making him feel all filthy and woozy? Why had that elf given him the pendant in the first place? Harry had the impression it almost wished to help him when he had seen the regret in Dazle's eyes. Stupid house elves and their stupid _Masters_, why couldn't Dobby have been here, Dobby would have helped him get out of here. Too bad Dobby was at Hogwarts.

He sighed and let his shoulders droop in a sign of weariness and closed his eyes. What he really should have done was call on Kreacher, it was too late now with Goyle Senior back in the room. Kreacher could have helped; even if he didn't want to he _had_ to help him.

He could have at least gotten word out to the others,

Stupid House Elves and their _stupid_ Masters indeed.

Who is left of the others anyway, they might as well all be dead by now. He snorted mirthlessly not wanting to think of the implications of his thoughts.

Goyle Senior turned at the sound; he narrowed his eyes at him and snarled, "What could possibly be so humorous that you'd think of it in these dire circumstances Mr. Potter?" Goyle Senior's heavy gaze flickered over him suspiciously.

He reeled in that bubble of fear that started to accumulate in the pit of his stomach and crushed it before it could be defined more properly, forcing Harry to be too afraid.

He shouldn't be too afraid.

Death is merely the beginning of the next great adventure after all, right?

He remained silent.

"Maybe you are getting too comfortable, hmm? Well then, that could definitely be _fixed_."

Harry steeled himself and set his jaw in a firm line for whatever pain was about to come his way.

So he was probably going to die, like his friends probably had died earlier.

So what?

He was not going to go down cowering and sniveling like a little girl, even if he was afraid, he would not show it.

He was not going to let them have the satisfaction.

His resolve made, he looked up and just stared back at Goyle Senior, his eyes swirling in pallets of dark greens and black. His mouth started to twitch and he just grinned manically back at Goyle.

"Do you really think you of all people could get to me so successfully if your _precious Lord_ – he spat the last two words – hasn't been able to? Hmm? You must think very highly of yourself…" his voice trailed out surprisingly steady, glazed over in steal.

He saw Goyle Seniors face darken and those vicious eyes visibly widen in shock.

"The only reason that you _are_ here organizing this…this…_feast…_" Harry continued liking the fact that his words had made such an impact and wiped that ugly sneer right off that gits face, "is that Lucius is stuck in prison, or else you would still be his - _pathetic – little – worthless…_"_ – _He could see how each word was affecting Goyle Senior, each insult bringing a new color to his face that started to look like a very ugly puce all together. He must be hitting a sensitive snare.

"_brainless – ugly –shit-faced…_"

His insults were starting to get weaker and weaker and he was running out of them fast. But it didn't matter to Harry; he gleefully looked at Goyle Seniors ever-changing skin tone, which was currently an ugly shade of green Harry didn't even know the name of.

"_revolting – piece of…of dragon dung – smelly owl droppings his…filthy little MINION!" _he finished lamely.

HA! He thought, as he looked at Goyle's face now sporting a brown that very much resembled dragon dung or owl droppings for that matter.

He smirked for effect.

Goyle Senior drew his wand and pointed it at Harry; the wand wavered slightly probably because Goyle was trembling with rage. Just as he was about to send some ghastly curse speeding at Harry to shut him up, searing pain shot through Harry's forehead and Goyle Senior dropped his wand and grabbed for his left arm, gritting his teeth.

He shot Harry one last furious glance before taking his wand that had clattered to the floor and rushed for the door to open it.

Harry's head felt like an axe had dropped on it and successfully smashed a hole right through his skull. He reflexively tried to clutch for his head to protect it but only succeeded in making the shackles bounding his arms cut into his wrists more painfully.

This could only mean one thing.

_Voldemort._

No sooner did the thought finish its way through his brain, coming to this horrible conclusion than the door opened to let in a dozen or so dark clad figures.

They were probably the ones _lucky_ enough to be in Voldemort's inner circle. He had no doubt _Snape_ would be parading as one of them too, after successfully killing the one wizard Voldemort had ever feared.

Malfoy would probably be there too now, Harry thought bitterly. After all he did bring in the _Boy Who Lived_.

He noticed that they weren't wearing their usual Death Eater attire.

Instead they wore dark violet robes with hints of gold on the seams that suitably matched the purples of the assembly room.

Harry could not believe his eyes, Death Eaters walking around in fashionable robes for a celebratory feast! How absolutely _ridicioulus._

A quick vision rushed to his mind of Voldemort shopping for robes and petulantly demanding…'_Purple! I wanted purple robes not this ugly mauve! Wormtail, can't you get anything right! CRUCIO!'_

The pain that had flared up in his scar had resided to a dull achy throb; it wasn't uncomfortable enough for him to stifle the reckless giggle that followed that particular image. In fact, the dark magic that still radiated from the pendant he was wearing like a million little acromantula scuttling through his body was starting to intoxicate him.

It wasn't like anything else he had ever felt before, and now that he had resigned himself with his probable mortal fate, it really didn't disgust or frighten him any longer.

He could feel the magic getting excited by his acceptance, it made his skin tingle and pulse in the same rhythm as his heartbeat. His own magic soon joined in to dance and rejoice in this new feeling of satisfaction, urging him on.

He chuckled mirthlessly at the startled reactions of the Death Eaters who had stopped their dramatic entrance when they heard him laugh and had turned to look at him.

They still had their white masks on though, which disallowed Harry to identify them personally or actually see any of the shocked expressions on their faces.

He just stared back at them grinning.

"You guys really do look like a bunch of ponces," he stated calmly, as if he was merely pointing out some redundant fact about today's weather to a couple of simpletons instead of a group of armed Death Eaters.

A gasp could be heard from some where to his left, a Death Eater rustling nervously with his robes. Harry just made out the glint of silver protruding from his sleeve from his position on the dais.

"Oh,_ hello_ Wormtail." He snickered. His head was now clearly confounded and dazed in a cloud of black magic.

"You…" bellowed Goyle Seniors voice clearly outraged still standing at the door. He aimed his wand directly at Harry, and was about to utter a curse when an ice cold voice pierced through the shocked silence.

"Leave him..." the cold raspy voice almost whispered. A cloaked figure all in black practically glided through the door and past the Death Eaters who immediately exploded into movement, resuming their way towards the decked table, each person standing behind a seat, waiting.

Harry's scar immediately felt like it was on fire, and he gritted his teeth in an attempt to keep anyone from noticing he was affected by Voldemorts presence.

The red, snake-like gaze of Voldemort seemed to burn a hole in his skull, as he sat at the head of the table directly opposite Harry.

Harry seemed to sober up immediately, it had been longer then a year since he had been this close to Voldemort.

"After all, there is no one _left_ to save him now," Voldemort continued with obvious mirth. This statement was greeted with laughter by the accompanied Death Eaters.

"We might as well make his death worth our time," he lisped.

"Now sit, and feast," he demanded.

The Death Eaters took their seats and food immediately appeared on plates, and glasses were instantly filled with the reddest of wine, they started on the feast immediately.

Voldemort was right.

He had always been reckless. Hermione had called it his 'saving people thing'. But he had _always_ gone into danger knowing that he would have someone to count on, a safety net by the name of Albus Dumbledore.

Even if Dumbledore wasn't always present, he always came through for Harry when he most needed it, and if what Voldemort said was true, he didn't even have Ron and Hermione anymore, who had been a constant presence in his life for the past six years.

All the people who could have been able to stand up and make a difference would have been gone, taking with them the hope to a positive out come of this war.

Something he could not accomplish alone.

And then it dawned on him for the first time, the overwhelming feeling made his mask of indifference crack in two.

He _was _alone.

He was _utterly_ alone, and if he died so would all the goodness in the world. Albeit slowly, but it was inevitable.

And it was all _his_ fault.

He had let everyone down; he had let the whole _world_ down by flying off in a fit of rage to find his ex-potions master. He had let the whole world down by getting captured by Draco _fucking _Malfoy of all people.

What had he been thinking? Running off like that without telling anyone, without even making sure his friends were okay. He wished he had listened to that infuriating Hermione-like voice.

He clearly hadn't been thinking, and now all because of his irrational behavior the whole _world_ would suffer.

The dismay of this realisation struck him hard; he could literally feel all the colour drain out of his face.

The immense responsibility he had been carrying since he learnt of the prophecy seemed to have successfully flattened him to the ground. He had known what he meant to the world, and he had ruined everything, all in his weakness and grief and all his red hot emotions.

His defenses came crashing down all around him, falling on him like great debris of a tall and mighty building. His head started spinning and his stomach seemed to roll around itself twice, before trying to climb up his throat. His eyes that just a few minutes ago had been clouded with green and spots of blacks started to drain to an eerie hollow jade with every painful recognition.

It was all his fault.

Across from him, Voldemort was the only one who hadn't moved to eat. He was staring at Harry intently, effectively ignoring a Death Eater two seats to his right who seemed to be attempting to swallow his whole plate in one go.

His mouth twitched upwards and he flashed his sharp little teeth in sign that he knew about Harry's inner turmoil.

He probably did too, he was a Legilimens and Harry never really got the hang of Occlumency.

Fear started to take over his senses then, and the pendant that still hung around his neck started to make him feel queasy instead of high.

He barely suppressed the urge to vomit.

Voldemort stood then, his hood falling back across his shoulders; revealing his face. He was still looking at Harry, holding his wine glass in front of him.

His face had barely changed since the last time Harry had seen him, he still gave off the feeling of a big reptile, with his nose made of two narrow slits in the middle of his face. His complexion, still a sickly pale colour, glowed ghost-like in the dark of the room and his spidery long fingers were currently caressing the wine glass. The red of his eyes conflicted with the rest of his appearance, making him look more dead then alive.

Silence took over the room.

"A toast would be appropriate, a toast to the day that saw the end of a family full of Muggle lovers, a day that will see the end of The Boy Who _Lived_," Voldemort started.

"No longer shall we have to hide and bide our time, no longer shall we live in constant repression and fear of being discovered by the outside world."

"After today you," he looked around the table proudly, "my faithful friends, will be the first to glory in a world purified of Muggle _filth," _he snarled viciously.

"We shall thrive, my friends; we shall thrive upon our success and kill all those who still dare to oppose the word of Lord Voldemort!"

Jeers and applause broke loose all around, the Death Eaters around the table stomped their feet on the ground for effect, one or two calling '_Hear, hear!'_

"And as my ultimate trophy," he continued, "for the entire world to see I will have his," he pointed his wand in a quick motion at Harry, "body _mauled,_ his eyes _gouged_ out, and his head _severed_! He will be absolutely _RUINED…_" he growled loudly, the glass in his hand shattered as if an example of what would become of Harry.

He walked around the table, approaching the dais slowly.

"…except for his scar," he whispered breathlessly.

Silence fell over the room again.

He arrived at the dais Harry was propped on, and loomed over his huddled body. He reached out one long pointed finger and traced Harry's scar all the way down the lines of the lightning bolt shape. Harry tried to squirm away from that cold poisonous touch ineffectively, restricted by his bounds.

"His scar remains untouched," he continued softly.

"I will leave his scar for the whole world to see, as a reminder of the boy who had brought them such a foolish thing as hope for light, hope for friendship but most of all hope for _love…"_ he continued more loudly.

"To see that it meant nothing, nothing at all compared to what I will _offer_ to give out to those who will obey; uncountable wealth and riches, every secret desire and every deepest hidden wish, but most of all, unbelievable power!"

All the candles went out and a burst of energy so powerful it brought tears to Harry's eyes encompassed them in a little demonstration. It lit up the whole room in a spur of lavish red that seemed to jolt around Voldemort, making the room vibrate and hum in enthralling magic.

All that was visible in the now pitch black room were Voldemort's glowing, bright red eyes surrounded by streams of magic Harry hadn't witnessed since the battle between Dumbledore and Voldemort at the Ministry.

Another wave of applause and sounds of agreements exploded from the Death Eaters.

"Luciussss my good friend…" Voldemort smiled maliciously, whirling around to face the table again, casting an uncanny red glow around the room. He looked at a Death Eater that was sitting to the left side of the table.

"I am glad you are with us again, I can not express enough how pleased I am that you finally freed yourself of your weaknesses," he hissed, each s slithering across his tongue.

"I am deeply sorry for your loss, of course," he mocked in an ailing sweet tone. "I wish it could have been different, but you killing the boy was the only way for you to redeem yourself and the Malfoy name.

"He had to pay the price for failing his task, though he did well bringing me Potter, very well indeed," he narrowed his eyes at Lucius.

"Naturally I would have let you free, but no one demands anything of me," he added silkily.

"He should have known better, really."

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius replied resolutely, with no sign of any lingering emotion. His wispy silver hair protruded through the edges of the hood of his robe.

"Good, now shall we…"

The rest of Voldemort's voice was drowned out by his thoughts that tried to process the information that had just been given to him.

Malfoy was dead? Killed by the father he so desperately tried to save. Another stabbing wave of guilt crashed over Harry. If he hadn't stormed off to Spinner's End, Malfoy would have still been there, waiting for Snape's return.

He hadn't liked Malfoy, not one bit.

As a matter of fact, he must admit that the thought of Malfoy meeting an untimely death must have crossed his mind quite a bit over the years.

But Malfoy hadn't deserved to die for trying to protect his family.

Too many had died today already.

And it was all because of him.

He closed his eyes shut tightly in defeat and let all the pain he felt wash over him.

Him and his stupid rash decisions, him and his stupid feelings. He should have known better after Sirius.

He should have known better.

I don't want to feel these feelings anymore, he snarled at himself. I just want all these feelings to go away, he thought furiously. What good do they ever bring me? So far they have only brought me grief.

Sirius, Ginny, the Weasleys.

…Ron and Hermione.

Dumbledore…

He was absolutely exhausted.

All the different emotions that have passed through him in the last twenty-four hours; _happiness, fear, contentment, love, joy, panic, frustration, rage and hate_, it had left him drained and dead tired.

He didn't want to feel them anymore; didn't want to be tired anymore.

He was so done with feeling lost and out of control.

"Just go away, go away, go away…" he muttered under his breath repeatedly in a quiet mantra. He clenched his hands into fists so tight that the white of his knuckles was clearly visible.

He could feel the pendant against his skin start to pulse again, and the feeling of indifference returning to him. His body started to react to the dark magic of the pendant; it was spreading to every corner of his body, pumping through his veins mercilessly.

That dark hole deep inside him, that gaping wound that had been ripped open just after the attack at the Burrow, where he felt all his hurt and these complicated conflicting emotions pour though started to gradually fade.

"-go away, GO away, GO AWAY!" he kept roaring, heedless of his surrounding.

His magic swirled around him, capturing him in a whirlwind of energy he had never felt before. The air crackled with wild magic, making the purple curtains wave restlessly in the wind, his hair that had grown noticeably shaded his face with jet black locks.

He distantly heard the clatter of cutlery, and shrieks of disbelief as the magic of the pendant and his own magic flowed around each other in elaborate flourishes as if contesting in a mating ritual.

The dais started to tremble, and as the magic looked to be infusing, Harry felt himself beginning to float.

"JUST GO AWAY!" he bellowed one last time, dragging out each syllable on his short breath.

Everything went quiet, as if he was wrapped up in a plastic cocoon that warped and blocked out most sounds, except for a faint ringing in his ears.

He felt light and _different_ but he couldn't define just yet what that difference could be.

He noticed that he wasn't bound by any shackles anymore and frowned, still clenching his eyes shut. That wasn't the difference he had felt, well yes his wrists did _feel_ a lot better now, but the change that he felt, felt…well… he didn't know exactly.

And then it came to him, he knew what it was now.

_Nothing_.

He felt absolutely _nothing_ at all.

It was as if all the magic he had released, magic that he hadn't even known he possessed, had actually listened to his wishes and took away all the hurt and overwhelming mix of emotions he felt.

He was numb.

He opened his eyes that were now such a pitch black that they seemed to have lost _all_ traces of once being green and stared right into the face of Voldemort, who just looked at him with mild curiosity, a hint of a smile on his face that did nothing for his features.

Harry just gazed back at him from his position above the dais, his hair still on end and magic still coursing around him furiously. He noticed that all the Death Eaters were standing just behind Voldemort, their wands drawn and pointing at him ready to lash out if needed.

"You _are_ quite the creature, hmm?" Voldemort stated, the sound of his snake-like voice piercing through Harry's foggy mind. He could make out what that ringing in his ear was now.

"Pity you have to die so soon," Voldemort breathed.

The ringing appeared to be the sound of some kind of clock that had been hanging unnoticed on the shaded side of the wall opposite Harry.

"-seeing as how you do have some remarkably good features. Great magical ability, the gift of Parseltongue, and now it's clear you have a talent for dark magic as well. Those are all _my_ features." continued Voldemort lazily.

He brought up his arm bearing his wand and pointed it directly at Harry. Harry tried to drift out of the way, but he was too late, as he felt himself unable to move, all he seemed to be able to do was blink stupidly at Voldemort all the while that irritating bell chimed in his ear, making him unable to concentrate properly.

"Cut off his head!" someone in the crowd of Death Eaters called out viciously, he wouldn't have been surprised if it had been Bellatrix Lestrange.

Voldemort smiled maliciously at that, and at the encouragement of the other Death Eaters.

Then Harry felt something burning in his neck, something hot and sharp that started to press at his taut skin, pushing and forcing an opening. He tried to move his head to see what it was but still couldn't move even an inch.

He was forced to look into those red eyes, shimmering with hatred and contempt.

He felt tell-tale drips pouring down the side of his neck that made him aware that his skin had been punctured.

Voldemort showed his teeth when he noticed Harry's eyes widening as realization had hit him of what was about to happen.

And then a more vicious stab seemed to slice inch for every slow inch into his open neck and he screamed.

-------------------------------------------------

Look out for:

**Chapter 4: Untitled - **A lot of questions will be answered, how will Harry escape his fate? What is the pendant and what happened to The Weasleys. Where does Snape fit in? Thanks again Colon for betaing!


	4. The Portotalus & Releaser

**Chapter 4. ** The Portotalus & Releaser

He screamed.

His body instinctively tried to turn away from the invisible blade that was gradually making a rather large wound in the side of his neck, but Harry found himself still unable to move against the magic that restrained him.

A vivid red that was his blood poured down his neck in a rapid stream. It felt warm and thick on his skin as it seeped downwards and started to blend in with the crimson of his dress robes, leaving Harry with a coppery scent in his nostrils.

He tried to speak; he tried to tell the monster that was Voldemort who was in front of him with evident elation radiating from his stance alone to stop, but he couldn't get his mouth to form the words so he just carried on screaming.

Cackles and shrieks of laughter drifted out from the crowd of Death Eaters before him as they saw the hero of the wizarding world being decapitated alive. They were cheering and jeering, their masked faces taunted him with such hatred and cruelty that Harry had never witnessed before.

Voldemort's brimming red eyes shone with palpable sadistic mirth in the gloom of the room, with them burning any lingering hope Harry had of ever escaping in a blazing firestorm. They penetrated his mind and through them Voldemort's cold voice spoke directly into his head.

_Y__our death has been long overdue, too many times have you thwarted me._ _With Dumbledore out of the way it was only a matter of time before I got my hands on you. _

Harry began to feel faint, he could feel the blade push in further and further and that insisting clock which was still chiming didn't help matters one bit.

_I hadn't thought you special, just an ordinary boy with ordinary powers __and a lot of good fortune, but I can admit to your ears alone now, that I was mistaken. _Voldemort's voice echoed coolly through his mind.

Sweat started to drip down his brow as Harry's eyes glazed over, and he couldn't breathe without causing immense pain in his throat or preventing blood from gurgling noisily from his lips. He couldn't swallow any longer and felt himself starting to suffocate; he took one last big painful gulp of air and held on to his last breath for dear life.

_I can see now, that you have many special talents__** you**__ aren't even aware of…Dumbledore must have known all along, that maddening old fool. _

_It doesn't __matter because you will never discover them now. _He continued in a lazy voice.

_And with your death the path to success will finally be cleared, no one will be able to stop me from exposing the wizarding world any longer._

Voldemort started to laugh then, a vibration from deep inside his belly resonating through the air. It sounded almost inhuman, an arctic sort of chuckle that had forced itself out of Voldemort unnaturally. It cracked and stuttered unsurely, almost shyly as if he had not been able to laugh in over a century and had forgotten how to go about something that came so effortlessly to most people.

The soft chortle grew in intensity, and Harry figured with an odd impassiveness and calm, that this was the first time he had ever witnessed Voldemort laugh. The sound soon reverberated maniacally around; his eyes gleaming with distinctive malice and triumph.

Harry did not feel anything except pain, not even fear or sorrow, just an odd displeasure. He felt strangely hollow inside and completely detached from the occurring scene. He started to rationalise it.

He knew he couldn't hold his breath for ever, he knew that if he lost anymore blood and if the blade that was still hacking ever so slowly into his neck would go in just _that_ little further he'd lose consciousness.

_You are going to die Harry Potter. _Voldemort's cruel voice echoed in his head for the last time.

That's when everything seemed to slow down drastically, as if the whole room was hit with a very strong Impedimenta spell. A lot of things were happening at the same time, and because his mind projected everything in slow-motion, he was able to notice certain things he normally wouldn't have.

He didn't really comprehend what was happening, which was understandable as he was trying not to pass out from the sheer pain in his neck alone. All he knew was that Voldemort's gleeful expression suddenly transformed in to a wild and enraged widening of his eyes that was almost comical. His laughter abruptly stopped; instead a howl of fury took over and encircled him. A shriek so frightful pierced the room, it rang shrilly in tune with the loud stretched out _clang_ of the clock as it sang its final song.

What was the man _yelling_ about? He was dying wasn't he? Harry thought, confused by the reaction of Voldemort. How could I still have managed to displease him during my death?

He felt it then, the pendant he was still wearing under his robes. It was rumbling so quietly he imagined he was the only one who could hear it buzzing. It tingled on his skin and started to shake imperceptibly, magic darted out from it to connect with something behind him. Harry couldn't see what it was, but Voldemort and the Death Eaters obviously could.

The Death Eaters seemed to be trying to hex him. Their mouths were slowly opening and closing, forming curses with their lips, except for one Death Eater who was curiously standing to the side of the group, and wasn't wearing his mask any longer.

It was Snape.

Snape just stood there staring intently at Harry with his dark eyes, his greasy hair flailing everywhere in long strands around his face. His expression was carefully smoothed out into a blank mask, but Harry saw how his fists were scrunched up tightly around his wand as he held it midair.

And then he felt something sucking at him pulling him backwards with enormous force. It was as if a small whirlwind had materialised out of nowhere behind him and started dragging him backwards in long desperate hauls. He could hear the wind and little currents of air wheezing, making his robes and hair fly roughly through the air.

The blade that he hadn't felt pressing at him for the last couple of seconds abandoned the slow excruciating teasing on his neck. Instead it started slashing his throat desperately, his glazed over eyes widened as he started choking from the amount of blood that had gathered in his mouth. He saw his own alarmed expression slowly forming in the reflection of Voldemort's crimson eyes, and he saw what had made Voldemort so furious and anxious to kill him faster.

A big dark black hole hovered in the air behind Harry; it pulsed and seemed to vibrate with dark magic. The wind that drew him backwards seemed to be originated from it. A grey orb floated in its center, buzzing with magical power. The orb looked to be absorbing and culminating magical energy that was draining out of the pendant, and as it reached its peak, it sent off such an amount of power that Voldemort's invisible bonds - that all the while had tried to keep Harry stationary - were stripped of their magical energy and sucked into the orbs ever-growing bundle of power.

Time seemed to catch up with his brain then, and he flew back into the hole instantly. He saw Voldemort grab frantically for his ankle, saw the spells the Death Eaters had send his way speeding towards him. But before any of them could reach him the hole closed up abruptly in a rush of magic and he was _gone._

"What was he doing traveling by a _Portotalus_, that's what I would like to know! That's _dark_ magic Minerva, it could have _killed_ him. He's lucky to be alive as it is, poor lad nearly drowned in his own blood!"

"Keep your voice down will you!" she whispered irritably. "Don't you think I realise the severe condition of the situation Mr. Potter is in? You know I am not able to disclose any more information as it is, for his and our safety. Will you please just wake him, it is extremely important."

"As I have stated before, it is ill advised to wake Mr. Potter during this part of his healing, as an experienced and licensed Medi-Witch I must insist that-"

"And as _I _stated before, I must speak with him immediately!" snapped the agitated female voice.

Silence fell for an instant.

"Very well -" replied the other in an indignant tone.

A sigh then.

"-he should rouse any minute now. I already gave him a light incentive. Actually, he should already have woken up," continued the voice in a resigned, but slightly warmer manner.

Harry kept his eyes shut.

He wasn't even sure he would be able to open them anyway. His eyelids felt as heavy as brick and they seemed to be stuck together with Stick-Together-Stuck-Forever Wizards' Superglue.

He did not need to open his eyes to see the disapproving frown on Madam Pomfrey's face that doubtlessly would be aimed at McGonagall right about now. Nor did he have to be able to see to know that Minerva McGonagall was probably pursing her lips in an impatient way, arms crossed, refusing to give even an inch.

He had awoken almost instantly after Madam Pomfrey had finished casting a reviving charm on him. He barely had kept himself from stirring, and had concentrated hard on keeping his breathing even as soon as he realised where he was and who the squabbling voices belonged to.

He was in the Hospital Wing.

The sterile smell that permanently wafted through the air of the Hospital Wing mixed with all kinds of medical potions had left him with no doubt in his mind about that. He had been there too often to be mistaken.

What he hadn't known and just could not seem to remember, no matter how hard he tried, was how he had gotten there. He recalled curses, chimes, Voldemort's furious red eyes, and then a black hole, but besides that his mind had resolutely refused to fill in the blanks.

Oddly his temporary memory-loss did not seem to bother him all that much. He was strangely calm about the fact that he had escaped a gruesome death by what he expected to be mere luck _again._

He had been listening to the two women bickering for about fifteen minutes now, and had learnt some interesting things he was sure they wouldn't have mentioned if they had known he had been awake.

Apparently Hagrid had found him unconscious, covered in blood and in a state of near death just outside the gates of Hogwarts a week ago. He had scooped Harry up in his massive arms and taken off in a dead run for the Hospital Wing with great terrifying strides leaving startled onlookers in his wake.

People at Hogwarts?

Harry had almost frowned when he had heard that part. The school term had not started yet after all, but he remained motionless, kept his face carefully smoothed out and continued listening.

McGonagall had almost bumped head first into to the flustered Hagrid on her way to her office. She had taken one look at Harry, immediately banished the papers she was holding, drawn her wand, levitated him in the air with a flourish and brought him into the care of Poppy Pomfrey at once.

He gathered from their constant bickering that Madam Pomfrey had demanded to know what had happened for him to be in such a state, but Minerva consequently refused to give out anymore information other than that Harry had traveled by Portotalus.

Whatever that was supposed to be.

He figured it was that big black hole that had sucked him up.

Harry suspected that McGonagall probably didn't have any more of a clue of what had occurred and therefore _couldn't_ tell Madam Promfrey anything else.

That was probably why she needed to speak with Harry so desperately.

But Harry really didn't feel at all inclined to stop his pretence of unconsciousness. In fact, he'd rather not wake up at all and just bask in the feeling of this detached and empty calmness.

"Well, why hasn't he woken up yet Poppy?" he heard McGonagall ask the Medi-Witch.

"I don't know. He should already… wait a minute."

A wand prodded his arm.

He remained silent.

A more determined prod then.

A pause.

He tried to snore for effect, but the sound that pursued sounded more like a strangled hippopotamus.

He could practically _hear_ the frown on the matron's face now, as it changed to a suspicious narrowing of the eyes.

A few seconds passed in silence.

Then, a hard jab in the ribs followed abruptly.

He couldn't help it, the sound escaped him before he even realised it.

His eyes flew open and he yelped loudly, his hand reaching up to the spot that doubtlessly would become a bruise, on sheer reflex.

He glared indignantly at the two women, rubbing his side gently. "You didn't have to poke me so hard you know." he snapped. His voice was hoarse and sounded more like a rusty flute then anything remotely healthy. All he saw was a blotch of white to his right, (what he figured was Madam Promfrey) and a dark blue one next to that (what had to be Headmistress McGonagall). He fumbled with his right hand for the nightstand he knew would be there, and found his glasses.

Two livid glares were sent his way in return when he finished putting his glasses on, meeting and wilting his to a blank expression.

"In all my life-"

"I have never-" started the two angry witches at the same time.

They glanced at each other for a quick second, nodded, and then bundled their indignation together in one frightening force, finally seeming to agree on something.

"Mr. Potter, we have been worried sick, your critical condition has kept us up monitoring you in turns for a whole week!" shrieked Madam Pomfrey, pointing an accusing finger directly at Harry.

"You-Know-Who has been terrorizing Muggle- and Wizarding - London ever since we found you practically dead! It is essential that we learn everything of your abduction," McGonagall said in a frosty voice that she only reserved for students who had done something particularlyawful. She looked exhausted, wearing a rumpled set of emerald robes, and her usual immaculate tight bun consisted mainly of lose strands of hair.

"I could have easily given you an overdose of Breath of Life potion if I thought I was unsuccessful in reviving you. It is a potion we give to patients who are in a coma …a coma! It is not meant for people who are _not_ in one! You could have died…yet_ again_!" The Medi-Witch concluded, red in the face, eyes flashing frantically, clearly brimming with emotions.

The uniform she wore was dirty; he could see spots of crimson on it which was probably dried blood, maybe even his.

"I have been trying desperately to keep the press at bay, after the Ministry spotted the enormous wave of energy at Hogwarts gates, and after people saw you being brought in by Hagrid. The public has been talking ever since, wondering if the two might be connected and if The Boy Who Lived is still alive. Hogwarts has been flooded with noisy reporters, and the Prophet has been publishing ridiculous articles!" snapped McGonagall heatedly.

Harry just stared.

He was able to count all the groves and wrinkles in her face, and he thought she had never looked older then she did in this moment. It was as if she had aged ten years in a week.

"I've seen… too many dead this past week; I don't think I could handle anymore," Madam Pomfrey continued, her eyes started to water, and she sniffled kind of pathetically as she turned her face away to try to hide her tears. She busied herself with her apron, crumpling it and then smoothing it down furiously.

"And all _you_ do is lay there pretending to be unconscious as if all of this-" McGonagall gestured around to nothing in particular to emphasise her point. "-is one big elaborate hoax. Well let me tell you, this is absolutely serious!" finished McGonagall hotly, lips pursed forebodingly, she pushed the square spectacles that had slid down in her fuss back up the bridge of her nose.

Harry just kept on looking at them for a couple of minutes when no one broke the silence that followed.

Madam Promfrey was still pretending not to cry, and Headmistress McGonagall was staring back at Harry, refusing to speak, demanding an explanation with her eyes.

To be honest, he didn't really know what to say.

He didn't really know how he felt about the entire situation, and it annoyed him to no end that they expected him to _feel_ ashamed and awful about his behavior.

The point was that he didn't really feel anything.

He actually hadn't really felt anything since his outburst during the Death Eaters feast when he had wanted his feelings to go away, and had suddenly felt void of any prominent feelings.

That seemed to remind him of something else, something that successfully provided him with a reason to avoid giving a response.

He reached up and felt underneath the pyjamas he was wearing, ignoring the questioning looks of the two witches.

There it was, the golden pendant Dazle had given him. It was still there, now an almost familiar weight around his neck; it vibrated and rumbled softly with the intoxicating dark magic as he took it out from beneath his garment.

On closer inspection he noted that it was emitting a blue-silverish glow as it lay heavy in his hand. The gold was a dim golden-yellow and very thick. The ancient-looking pendant was shaped in an oval, he detected that it had a fine glimmering emerald line marking the edge, made of what he expected to be crystal. In the middle of the smooth gold the pendant was carved with certain markings he had never seen before.

It was absolutely beautiful.

He tried to take it off to look at it better but wasn't able to lift it over his head.

He frowned. Why wasn't it coming off? He tried it again but it was as if an invisible energy force kept it from being removed.

Madam Pomfrey gave a loud sniff and cleared her throat.

"Ah yes that awful thing. I tried to take it off so I could reach the ghastly cuts on your neck more easily, but it refused to be removed for some reason. It kept on giving me nasty shocks every time I tried to touch it," she informed him, looking at the pendant with disgust plainly written across her tear-streaked face.

He made a sort of 'hmphf' sound in reply, not really sure what to say, then turned the pendant around, held it up into the light, and saw that the same markings were displayed on the back.

A loud gasp resounded through the room.

Startled, Harry looked up and saw that McGonagall's face had gone chalk white. She stood rigid, her body tensed noticeably, eyes wide in disbelieve.

"Impossible! No…it can't be," she muttered under her breath, looking at the pendant intently.

"Where in heavens name did you get that?" she whispered urgently, starting forward.

"Poppy, why haven't you informed me of this! You said he had been wearing this thing all week?" McGonagall demanded.

"Yes, I…I didn't think it was important," Madam Pomfrey began flustered. "and you were in such a state…just after, you know… That Day." Another sniffle left her. Harry figured she meant the day of the wedding. "I didn't want to bother you with something as trivial as jewellery I wasn't able to remove," continued a baffled Madam Pomfrey.

McGonagall stormed passed her, not even bothering to answer and grasped Harry by the collar in a firm grip, shaking him frantically. "Who gave this to you? You must tell me this instant!" Her eyes were wide and feverish as she looked at him.

Harry was totally shocked; he had never seen McGonagall like this.

Ever

"Who?" she repeated frantically.

"Uh… a house-elf did," Harry sputtered stupidly. It was the first thing his mind came up with

"What did it say?" McGonagall urged, as if it were a normal thing that house-elves gave away magical pendants. Her nails were painfully gripping his shoulders. She reminded Harry of the Gryffindor lion; sporting a fierce expression and strands of hair that sort of looked like a black mane framing her face.

Harry furrowed his brow in thought. He had been in an induced coma for a week; did she honestly expect his memory to be topnotch? He felt quite a bit fuzzy, which could not all be blamed on the magic of the pendant. Besides the elf hadn't been very well-spoken, he remembered it saying something about chimes and something about being lost for ever, but it hadn't really made sense then, and it still didn't make sense to him now.

"Well, it wasn't very coherent," he started hesitantly. "It did mention something about having to give this pendant to me or else his _master_ would be very displeased," continued Harry bitterly.

"And?" she insisted.

"Dazle definitely said something about chimes, yes it said…listen for the seventh chime of the hour …don't let your soul cloud in darkness or you'd be lost for ever." He shrugged. "I did hear chimes just before this big black hole thingy sucked me up right out underneath Voldemorts nose," Harry provided, still a bit unsure about McGonagall's sudden outburst.

"The Portotalus…" McGonagall breathed quietly. She had stopped shaking him but hadn't let go yet, he noticed that her eyes had widened a fraction upon hearing the elf's name.

"This means…this means..."

"He saved you," she concluded, in astonishment.

"Hereally _did _save you! Merlin's beard, this changes _everything_, It just has to!" she prattled on incredulously.

She laughed then, eyes gleaming with glimmers of hope but sobered up quickly and continued to mutter hysterically: "A Portotalus…what had he been thinking…unbelievably irresponsible…for a whole week no less…totally unacceptable…could have killed you…I'll tell that… that."

She fell quiet as she noticed the anxious and worried glances of Madam Promfrey, and the bewildered look on Harry's face.

She continued to look into Harry's eyes for a minute, then took a deep steadying breath to compose herself, stood up calmly and smoothed out Harry's collar as if nothing had happened at all, as if everything was just peachy, although he did notice that her hands trembled lightly as she did so.

Her voice was eerily serene when she next spoke. "I must send an urgent message, I'll be back shortly." She then looked directly at Madam Pomfrey and said "Look at his eyes, did you notice? He's not well. The pendant, it is the reason he hasn't been himself, I am going to contact someone who will help."

Madam Pomfrey looked fixedly into Harry's eyes before she narrowed her eyes, looked back at McGonagall and nodded once in reply.

"Oh and you can let them see him now I suppose," she said grimacing. "But make sure he has the pendant covered up, we don't want anyone to know about this yet before we figure out how severe it is and what to do."

She excused herself from the room, and before Harry had acknowledged what just happened or could ask any questions, she had already been gone.

"My eyes?" Harry demanded. "What's wrong with my eyes, and what does she mean I'm not myself, I haven't felt better in months!" he exclaimed indignantly

He wasn't lying; he did feel better than he had in months. He had no lingering physical aches from the attack, well his throat _was_ a little hoarse but that didn't really count. He wasn't depressed or inconsolable. Though he had to admit that he wasn't really happy either, but that didn't matter because happiness never stuck around for him long enough to enjoy it anyway.

"And who is _he_ supposed to be, don't tell me she's off getting that annoying house-elf?" He asked Madam Pomfrey, eyes wide in disbelief. "I don't care if it saved me, I don't want to see that stupid elf!" he practically screeched like a spoilt child.

Madam Pomfrey's face softened, and her eyes looked upon him warmly, as if he _was_ a child, a little helpless child, which only infuriated him more.

"I am not ill!" he shouted stubbornly.

But Madam Pomfrey continued to look at him with affection and said "Yes dear, of course you're not, are you hungry? You haven't eaten solid food for a week, you must be absolutely starving! I'll get you something from the kitchens; I'll be back in a jiffy." She turned and walked towards the door of the infirmary.

Harry gnashed his teeth in frustration. He couldn't believe Madam Pomfrey, or maybe he just didn't understand women in general.

"I'm not hungry!" he yelled in spite. Unfortunately his stomach chose that exact moment to speak up in its defense and growled loudly. Madam Promfrey stopped for a fraction of a second, turned around and just looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Fine! So I am a bit hungry," Harry said flushing. "The point is that I want some answers!"

"Mr. Potter, may I remind you not to yell at me? I understand everything is a bit confusing at the moment, I am quite confused myself. But until Headmistress McGonagall returns, I am afraid the only things I am able to give you are medical care and food. Now if you will excuse me, there are a few people very anxious to see you. And I'm afraid someone might get hurt if I won't let them out soon."

She turned back around again and continued her way out of the Hospital Wing. "And don't forget to tuck that pendant away," she called over her shoulder before she disappeared out of sight.

Harry stuffed the chain back underneath his pyjamas angrily, closed his eyes and threw his head back down onto the pillow. He was deeply confused, and the only two people he had seen in a weeks time, hadn't been helpful at all.

Well he wouldn't put up with it any longer; he wasn't just some little child who could be ordered around. He was an adult now, he was seventeen years old.

They didn't know anything about the severity of the situation. They hadn't a clue about the Horcruxes Harry needed to destroy, and if they didn't want to give him answers, he would leave for Godric's Hollow, because that's where he had planned on going to start his search in the first place, and find all the necessary answers himself.

He opened his eyes determinedly and scanned the room for his clothes and wand. For the first time he noticed how quiet it was in the Hospital Wing. He was the only occupant present and was stationed on the left side on the last bed, and his things were nowhere in sight.

He checked the little drawer of his nightstand.

Empty.

He checked underneath his pillow.

Nothing.

He even checked under the bed, but came up with nothing again.

He was just about to march out of the Hospital Wing in his pyjamas not caring at all about the fact that his attire was probably inappropriate for a stroll around Hogwarts, find Madam Pomfrey and demand she give his things immediately when the door slammed open with a loud '_Smack_' that echoed through the room and a fleck of orange and brown came rushing at him.

"Harry! Thank goodness you are alright, we were _so_ worried!" cried Hermione anxiously upon seeing him standing in the middle of the Hospital Wing. Her hair was as wild as ever and the ends seemed to be _singed_. Her face was black, completely covered in soot but she didn't seem to notice or didn't care as she crashed into him successfully knocking the breath out of him and making his teeth rattle.

She held on to him tightly. Maybe a bit too tightly, Harry thought ruefully as his face was buried in a puff of brown bushy hair that smelled of smoke.

"I'm fine Hermione," he tried quickly in a strained voice but was too late as she continued.

"We saw a Death Eater apparate you away from The Burrow, we thought you'd be dead like the others, we thought…we thought the most horrible things," she sobbed into his pyjamas.

He looked at Ron desperately, but Ron had stopped about two feet away, he also was completely covered in soot, the tip of his wand that he held in his right hand, was giving off bundles of smoke. His head was slightly cocked to the side and he was staring at him curiously.

"I knew you'd be alright, I just knew. But then you were gone for a whole week, a _week_ Harry we didn't know what to think and-" she blathered on, tears were now smudged all over her soot covered face and he felt his pyjamas getting wetter by the second.

"-and it's just terrible, everything is just terrible. I'm so glad you're alright, at least you're alright Harry," she finished, completely out of breath, crying frantically in his arms.

Harry was lost.

He didn't know what to do.

He figured he should probably feel bad about the fact that he hadn't at all thought of his two best friends all day, but he didn't.

The thing was still that he hadn't felt anything at all except for mild annoyance, anger and just plain nothing since he had woken up.

"Err," he began awkwardly, then patted Hermione on the back twice before prying her fingers from around his neck and peeling her off of him with a light push.

She looked up at him with big startled watery eyes that looked slightly hurt. "What is it Harry, are you in pain?"

"No …I-" he glanced at Ron again his eyes pleading for help, he didn't understand why Ron hadn't said anything, he never hesitated to help Harry before. Instead Ron was still just staring at him, his face scrunched up in thought.

Harry looked back at Hermione, and looked helplessly on as her lips started to tremble.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_. What am I supposed to do now, everything is just too complicated with feelings involved. This is exactly the reason why I don't want to have them anymore, he thought resentfully. He felt the pendant that he still wore under his pyjamas tingle.

"Your covered in soot!" he blurted out senselessly for lack of anything else to say. He looked on in amazement when it seemed to be the right thing to distract her. Actually, she seemed to jump desperately onto the change of subject, and he was stunned to see that her eyes cleared of tears and the Hermione that was completely grief-stricken vanished in front of him.

Hermione looked down at her robes, scrunched up her nose and said "Ah yes, Headmistress McGonagall had locked us up in Gryffindor Tower to prevent us coming down to the Hospital Wing-" she scowled, "- and Ronald here thought it be a good idea to _Incendio_ the back of The Fat Lady in order to get us out."

"Well it worked didn't it!" Ron said heatedly, it was the first thing he said since entering the infirmary. "Sort off anyway," he muttered.

"No it didn't Ron," Hermione said rolling her eyes. "The only reason we are even out of the Tower and not dead is because _I_ was sensible enough to put the fire out before we were all burned to ashes, _alive_!" she snapped at him.

"Anyway, Madam Promfrey had just been on her way to let us out; it had absolutely nothing to do with the fire you caused," she stated matter-of-factly.

Ron shot her a betrayed look, and then turned to Harry. "What's wrong with your eyes?" he demanded.

"What do you mean what's wrong with my eyes?" Harry demanded right back, annoyed.

Ron had stood there like an idiot staring at him instead of helping him with Hermione, and the first words he speaks to me are about my _eyes_ of all things he thought indignantly. There surely couldn't be anything wrong with them no matter _what_ McGonagall said. He could still see after all.

"They're still there aren't they?" he snapped impatiently.

"Yes, but…Harry they're not green anymore, it's pretty scary actually. I thought I was maybe…seeing things at first, but they still haven't changed back to green so I guess they must actually be black," Ron mused out loud, not seeming to notice Harry's mood.

"What's wrong with them?" he repeated calmly.

Harry watched him incredulously for a moment. "Come off it, of course they are green, they have always been green, tell him Hermione." He turned to look at her and found her looking at him in confused wonder.

She bit her lip, shook her head and said "He's right Harry, they are…black."

"That's not possible," he stated flatly.

"It is, look for yourself," said Hermione walking over to one of the beds. She then took her wand from her sleeve aimed it at the lamp on the nightstand and transfigured it into a small hand mirror and handed it to him.

He glanced at them a moment and saw that they were looking at him nervously.

Harry sighed, took the mirror from Hermione and looked into it.

He gasped at his reflection, his face was paler then usual and his eyes…his eyes were definitely not green.

His irises were a _pitch_ black. He could not even see his pupils; all he saw were round pools of the darkest black that stood out in the white of his eyes alarmingly.

He touched the side of his face just to make sure his reflection was real, looked back up at Hermione and Ron who were still looking at him anxiously.

"I don't understand," he whispered, looking at them for answers, eyes opened wide in bewilderment.

"Don't…You shouldn't…I mean you look very creepy when you do that mate," Ron provided unhelpfully.

Hermione glared at him.

"Well, he does," Ron muttered sheepishly.

Hermione opened her mouth to tell Ron off, but before she could get a word out, the door of the infirmary opened and Madam Pomfrey bustled in with a food tray floating behind her.

"Oh Mr. Weasley," she said upon seeing Ron. "there was no other way. We were required to cut it off to make sure the rest of his arm would survive," she continued.

Ron's face fell and turned an unhealthy grey.

"Oh don't worry Ronald, Fred is quite happy with his new hand. St. Mungo's has donated one of their more technologically advanced prototypes to him in commiseration for your loss. It is indestructible, and each of its fingertips has a special function that he's quite enjoying at the moment. Actually, he's driving everyone in the Great Hall insane," she continued in attempt to cheer him up.

Her face softened as she looked upon his slumped form. "I am sorry Ronald."

Hermione looked at Ron with concern, then turned to Harry and whispered "He's afraid Fred's hand will look too much like Wormtail's."

Harry just nodded. "What happened to Fred's hand, and after you know…I disappeared?" he asked quietly to no one in particular.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop drastically. Everyone visibly tensed, faces drooped and lips tightened. A dark shadow passed over Ron's already miserable face, the food tray that still hovered behind Madam Promfrey almost slid to the ground, and Hermione's eyes started to fill themselves with tears once again.

Great move Harry, just fucking _great_. He wanted to smack himself in the face for his obliviousness and tact. Obviously they didn't want to talk about it or be reminded of what had happened. That was probably why Hermione had dropped the subject as soon as she saw a way to avoid it, and Ron had acted like nothing had happened in the first place and had focused on him instead of anything else.

It was still just too raw.

"You really don't know, do you?" Hermione asked, her lips trembling slightly.

Harry shook his head, not sure how to react to all the emotions in the room.

She turned to the Medi-With then "Madam Promfrey, Headmistress McGonagall said she'd tell him, why hasn't she?"

"She was about to inform Mr. Potter of the situation when a pressing matter came to her attention. She had to send an urgent message, and will be back shortly," she answered while busying herself yet again with something trivial to hide her feelings, this time by levitating the tray back up and sending it to the nightstand on a wave of magic.

Silence fell again.

Finally Hermione took a long shuddering breath and said softly. "You must understand Harry, that what happened That Day was so horrifying, that sometimes we find ourselves trying to pretend it never happened just to stay sane and get through the hours."

A short pause.

"Harry… you are so strong, with all the things you've been through in your life it's sometimes hard to believe you're still here with us." A tear rolled silently down her cheek as she looked at him, with gleaming brown eyes that shone with sorrow and pain, but were also filled with love and pride.

He looked back at her and repressed the urge to grimace; he already regretted his stupid question. All he wanted were simple facts, so that he might discover useful details that could be essential. He was glad he didn't feel what they felt, because this way he would be able to focus all his energy on what was important right now; which was finding and destroying the Horcruxes.

Hermione took something out of the folds of her robe and handed it to him. "Here, it's a …list," she said tentatively.

Harry took the thick scroll of parchment from her curiously and unrolled it. It was so extensive that it trailed a foot on the floor of the Hospital Wing.

It was indeed a list, a very long list.

He looked at the title and read:

_**The d**__**eceased, the injured and missing of the attack at The Burrow, compiled by Hermione Granger.**_

He glanced back at her and she shrugged "It kept me occupied, the… scratching of the quill as I wrote soothed me," she stated objectively, as if making a list of injured and dead people wasn't strange at all and naturally had obvious therapeutic qualities.

The list was on alphabetical order, mostly covered with Delacours, Weasleys and Prewetts. He hadn't known the Delacours, but he saw that Gabrielle had found the same fate as Ginny, as had a lot of the others.

The only thing he knew of the Prewetts was that they were Molly's side of the family; most all of them had been murdered and some of the children were still missing. The list seemed endless.

He continued father down:

Weasley, Ann – Deceased from Avada Kedavra, the killing curse

Weasley, Arthur – Injured by Reducto, a blasting Curse- severe head wound, concussion

Weasley, Benjamin ­­-Deceased from Avada Kedavra, the killing curse

Weasley, Bill – Deceased from Avada Kedavra, the killing curse

Weasley, Cassie – Deceased from Avada Kedavra, the killing curse

Weasley, Charlie – Deceased from Avada Kedavra, the killing curse

Weasley, Fleur – Deceased from Avada Kedavra, the killing curse

Weasley, Fred ­ – Injured by Diffindo, a splitting curse, severe wound on right arm, amputated

Weasley, George – Injured by Incendio - Burn wounds – recovered completely

Weasley, Ginny – Deceased from Avada Kedavra, the killing curse

He started shaking, and his hands were crumpling the side of the parchment as he went over the names of hundreds of people randomly. _Percy Weasley – Missing, Molly Weasley – in a coma, Kingsley Shacklebolt – Dead_, _Augusta Longbottom – Dead, Perkins – Dead…_

He was _so_ unbelievably angry reading this, his eyes flashed dangerously and he could feel his magic and the pendants magic flaring up around him as he scanned the list, but he didn't care. He could hear the windows of the infirmary start to rattle and the beds screeching on the floor as they started moving. Things were flying through the room dangerously, but all of that didn't matter to him.

He was so consumed by the list that he didn't notice the terrified screams of Hermione as she looked at him in terror, and the frightened shouts of Ron and Madam Pomfrey telling him to stop.

_Verity – Dead, __Madam Rosmerta- Dead, Pomona Sprout- Dead…_

_Dead, dead, dead, dead… _everyone was just dead.

The windows started to crack and Hogwarts seemed to be shuddering in its foundation as if a massive earthquake had come.

He didn't understand why he felt so furious because he thought he wasn't able to_ feel_ anything. Maybe only small amounts of certain emotions, but it really all didn't seem to matter to him now. His hair stood on end and the magic around him started to encircle him in big loops of energy.

The door opened with a slam, the change of sound startled him and he looked up from the parchment. He noticed for the first time that he had been hovering two feet in the air, a silverish-blue light was radiating from his skin and from underneath his shirt what he realised was the pendant he wore.

No one had entered, then McGonagall came rushing into the infirmary; she stopped dead in her tracks horrified at the scene that was playing out in front of her. "Do something!" she yelled at someone to her right, Harry didn't understand because there wasn't anybody there.

Then a Disillusionment Charm was broken and out of nowhere Severus Snape stood next to McGonagall, wand pointed at Harry, a livid sneer on his face as he growled _"Stupefy!"_

Harry saw the red light of the stunner connect with his chest and he froze up instantly then crashed helplessly to the floor.

He stopped falling less then an inch from the ground; he hovered there for a second then was levitated to a nearby bed.

He couldn't move and he couldn't really see a lot, because he was stiff, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He felt drained and exhausted from all the wild magic he had done, and his brain malfunctioned causing him to be unable to think properly.

Did he just see what he thought he saw? He wasn't sure anymore, clearly it was a ridiculous notion to even _think_ that McGonagall would bring _him_ of all people into Hogwarts…

He heard Ron's angry voice snarl something that cleared him of all illusions. "That's Snape! What is _he_ doing here, he killed Dumbledore!"

"Headmistress McGonagall what's going on?" squeaked Hermione's terrified voice.

"Mr. Weasley, if you would be so kind not to point your wand at me-" he heard Snape say in a cold annoyed voice. "I don't wish to be on the end of one of your dysfunctional spells, I quite like all of my body part," he sneered.

Ron's face turned a beet red and he scowled furiously at his former professor, continuing to aim his wand at him.

"Mr. Weasley put you wand down this instant!" said McGonagall.

"But Headmistress, he's a murderer! And now he's going to kill Harry!" Ron protested in dismay.

"As quick on the uptake as ever, I see," Snape mocked cruelly.

"Severus, you're not helping at all, so if you don't have anything constructive to say please stay quiet!" McGonagall snapped agitatedly.

Snape crossed his arms and pressed his lips together tightly, then settled for just glowering at Ron instead.

Hermione pushed Ron's wand arm down to his side and whispered something in his ear, upon which he nodded.

Madam Pomfrey who had yet to say a word turned to McGonagall and said eyes wide "Severus is the one who saved Mr. Potter? You mean to say that he's the one who gave him the pendant?"

McGonagall nodded and said "I recognised the pendant immediately when Mr. Potter had held it up into the light. Severus sometimes used it when he was summoned to a meeting to aid him in losing all sense of emotion but anger, resentment and hate.

"When Mr. Potter told me that a house-elf named Dazle had given it to him, there was no doubt left in my mind that Severus must have arranged for it. Dazle is Severus's house-elf you see, who came to Hogwarts with him each term. Dazle's family has been working for the Snape family for centuries. Severus explained everything to me."

She looked at Snape then who nodded.

Ron abruptly aimed his wand at Harry and shouted "_Enervate_!" then quickly rushed to Harry's bedside dragging Hermione with him.

Harry sat up quickly then swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood up.

"Your Dazle's Master?" he asked astonished, looking at Snape dubiously.

The three adults glared at Ron, who seemed be focusing on trying to spontaneously shrink and hide behind Harry.

"Indeed," Snape said sourly, looking doubtful at Harry, as if he expected him to attack him at any second.

Harry probably would have a week ago. But now that he had _just_ exhausted most of his magic, and really wasn't overwhelmed by all kinds of emotions and notions of revenge any longer, he didn't actually seem to want to anymore.

Instead he was mostly curious.

Dazle had been _Snape's_ house-elf? Harry thought incredulously. So when that stupid elf had been going on and on about needing to give him the pendant from his Master, he had been talking about Snape all this time? He couldn't believe it; Harry was stunned, this time figuratively.

"But he killed Dumbledore!" Ron blurted out from behind Harry.

Snape turned to face him, his eyes flashing darkly and his face set into a furious expression as he stared angrily at Ron.

"Things are not always as they seem Mr. Weasley," he snarled in a steely voice. "and there is absolutely nothing I regret more in my life then having to kill the greatest wizard of all time at his own request." Snape closed his eyes; a pained expression clouded over his face, and took a deep breath.

When he next opened his eyes, he seemed calmer. His face had gone smooth and void of any lingering emotion.

He spoke up again after a few seconds and he started to explain everything in a flat monotone voice.

"I was forced to make an Unbreakable Vow at the beginning of last year to keep my credibility as a Death Eater and destroy the whispered suspicions that had been going about of me being a traitor." He looked determinedly around the silent room.

"Had I known then how events would play out, I would have never agreed to make that vow." His eyes went over each of their faces, he let his fierce expression linger on Harry's face an instant longer, wanting to make sure everyone understood the sincerity of his words.

"Narcissa Malfoy had come to me in a state of terror for her son's life; the Dark Lord had appointed Draco the task of murdering Albus. Of course he would never succeed, and Narcissa knew that all too well. She had made me vow to protect Draco to the best of my abilities and if he should fail to complete his task, I was to carry it out for him."

Hermione gasped loudly at that. Harry glanced at Ron and saw that his face had emptied of all color, his freckles standing out sharply on his pale face.

"Albus had known he was dying; it was obvious to anyone who dared to look. He wanted me to kill him in the unlikely event that Draco would come close to succeed his task, so that I might save Draco, remain useful as a trusted spy to the Order and if necessary protect and aid Potter whenever I could."

A vision came to Harry then, he saw Dumbledore ancient and worn-out, his hand blackened and dying slowly. His face had been white as snow after he had swallowed all of the liquid in the cave when they had found the fake Horcrux, and he saw again how Dumbledore had been forced to lean on him to get out of the cave and to Hogsmeade.

Snape was right, Dumbledore _had_ been dying. Now that his judgment wasn't impaired by overflowing emotions and grief he could see that clearly.

"We had informed no one of this mad plan which I grudgingly agreed to, I had never thought it would actually come that far." He sighed.

"It had to look convincing of course, to the Death Eaters and to everyone else. I knew it would be impossible to convince anyone of my loyalty to Albus and the Order after what had happened on the Tower. I had tried to warn you of the planned attack at The Burrow but all my letters and attempts at contact served in vain." His face changed, and he looked at Ron with what seemed to be real regret in his eyes.

"The only thing I was able to do was to go along, and see if I could lessen the damage. When I saw Potter standing there, in the middle of the attack, frozen and helpless I took the enormous risk of apparating him to safety."

"That was _you_?" Harry interrupted, stammering helplessly.

Snape sneered at him. "Yes Potter, if I had not, you would have probably been killed by one of the Avada Kedavras that had been flying around while _you _were merely standing still in shock."

Harry gaped at him. "I don't understand… why did you leave me a piece of parchment with your address on it?"

"I hadn't much time to form a concrete plan! All I knew was that I had to distract you with something else or you would have gone right back to The Burrow, which was the most dangerous place for you to be at that moment!" Snape snapped scowling at Harry.

"I counted on the one thing I was certain of, your hatred for me," he said coldly.

"That way I was able to give you a focus, something to center your grief and anger on. I had not actually expected you to be successful in disabling the shield that I had placed on the house to keep people from coming in and going out. I suppose I misjudged your power and the amount of dislike that you felt towards me," he finished icily

"Imagine my surprise when I heard from fellow Death Eaters that young and what I knew to be _wandless _Mr. Malfoy, because I had taken it from him myself, had been successful in capturing the Boy Who Lived, and that we all had to assemble at Goyle's house immediately." He looked at Harry with disgust then.

"I was furious, and did not know how to get you out of your very dire situation. In my desperation and lack of other solutions I took the pendant, one of my family heirlooms, and set it so that it would release a Portotalus at seven o'clock. I wasn't sure it would work; releasing a Portotalus takes a lot of power and is extremely dangerous.

"My great-great-great-great great grandfather Mandol Snape was the last Snape noted in history to have opened one successfully. He was sucked up and never seen again. The only thing that came out of the other end was that pendant, which is also the last existing Releaser left," he pointed at Harry's chest.

"Records show that those who have survived opening a Portotalus all had gone insane from the dark magic it and its Releaser possessed. Except for one, the Dark Wizard Grindelwald," he said coolly.

"It has been illegal to open up Portotaluses ever since Grindelwald started to open up so many with the purpose that oblivious Muggles, who of course couldn't see the things, started to wander into them and disappear for ever."

"But," Harry started "wouldn't it have been illegal anyway because of the dark magic?"

"Magic is magic Harry," Hermione began in her lecture tone. "In the very beginning wizards did not have classifications on what was dark magic or what was good magic. All magic just _was._

"There has always been a difference though, between wizards who did good things and wizards who did bad things. It was all about what _they_ did with that magic. I've read about Portotaluses and their Releasers," she continued excitedly.

"The myth states that it had actually been a regular way of transportation once. Like Apparating and using a Portkey, until the original spell properties got changed and were lost forever. No one exactly knows how or why, just that after it changed, it took immense power to actually open one, and only the greatest wizards or witches like Grindelwald who were lucky enough to own a Releaser succeeded," she concluded looking at Harry in awe.

"Anyway, the Ministry is said to have destroyed all registered Releasers because no one was able to use them anyway, and the few that _were_ able to, almost always abused their powers," she finished proudly.

Harry nodded at her.

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Snape mocked coldly, his face turning to sneer at Hermione who flushed a bright pink but refused to lower her gaze when she met his eyes.

"Most spells that are currently classified as '_dark'_ are spells that cost us a lot of energy, effort and takes a special mind-set. They are spells not everyone is able to perform-"

"Hold on a second," interrupted Ron. "So listening to all of that, does that mean that the Killing Curse is actually _not_ bad?" he asked confused.

"Of course it's bad," snapped Snape. "What Miss Granger tried to explain to you, why I don't know seeing as you are clearly too obtuse to understand the simplest of concepts, is that the magic _itself_ is not bad, but the way the magic is _used_ to perform that spell _is_ bad," he said to Ron spitefully.

"Take the Patronus Charm for instance. It is a spell that a lot of wizard's even adults are unable to accomplish. The thing that differs between the Patronus Charm and the Killing Curse is the _objective_. The spell itself is merely the mediator."

Ron still looked a bit confused but remained silent. Snape turned to Harry.

"The reason that the pendant's magic is considered dark is because its creator wanted the bearer to do dark things with it. Not only does the magic of the pendant remove most of the bearer's emotions, but if worn for too long your magic and the pendant's magic start to blend, and you won't be able to tell apart your own desires from what the pendant desires _of _you.

"Your eyes will slowly lose all traces of colour and the pendant will start to instill resentment, rage and hate. You'll become short-tempered and unstable. After a while you'll be so enthralled by its charm that you don't want, and there for won't be able to remove it."

"I'm fine," Harry snapped, annoyed, his hand reaching up automatically to touch the pendant.

He didn't _want_ to take it off, he didn't _want_ to feel his grief and pain. He didn't care that Snape wasn't a traitor after all, that didn't mean he wasn't still an ugly, selfish, spiteful, hooked-nosed git. He didn't care what Snape said about the pendant. He won't be able to convince him that he actually _wanted _to feel all the hurt and sorrow and that it was just the pendant telling him otherwise! That was just ludicrous.

He just needed the pendant to help him to be objective that was all. He could not be objective and depressed at the same time!

He was absolutely sure that after he had found and destroyed most of the Horcruxes he wouldn't need the pendant anymore and would be able to take it off when he really wanted to.

Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry suspiciously.

"How long has he been wearing that thing Minerva?" he asked grimly.

"Since we found him a week ago. He has been in an induced coma for six days." She answered stiffly.

Snape's eyes widened, and his perfect expressionless mask wavered as his mouth dropped open in shock.

"Salazar Slytherin himself! The whole week?" Snape exclaimed.

Harry thought he saw actual concern flicker briefly in Snape's eyes, before his mask fell back in place and he scowled, but he wasn't sure.

"So what?" retorted Harry, looking directly into Snape's eyes. "You have worn the pendant as well!"

"Yes, for about an hour each time at most!" barked Snape. "You would have taken it off if you had not been in a coma; the pendants magic can be quite…overwhelming. If I had known you would have been out of it all week, all the while wearing the Releaser I would have thought of something else!" said Snape hotly.

The Hospital Wing went completely silent. All that could be heard were the ragged breathing of Snape and Harry.

McGonagall was looking at them disapprovingly, lips pursed and arms folded across her chest.

Madam Pomfrey seemed to be torn between telling them off and kicking them out of the Hospital Wing entirely.

Harry and Snape were glaring daggers at each other.

"It doesn't matter," said Harry his voice douched in ice water, "because I'm not taking it off no matter what you say," He snarled at Snape, his black eyes flashing shockingly in the clear light of the Infirmary. The pendant around his neck pulsed visibly with magic that started to surround him in waves as a sort of protective shield.

Hermione let out a frightened gasp and took an uncertain step back from him, her hair flying to the sides of her face from the energy that seemed to be radiating off of Harry.

Ron stood motionless in alarm, looking at him as if he had never seen him before in his life.

"What?" Harry snapped at them.

"Maybe… you should listen to Professor Snape, Harry, you're not yourself and he wants to help you," Hermione ventured, taking another timid step backwards.

"Yeah, mate… maybe you should err, let them help you…I mean…" stammered Ron, following Hermione away from Harry. "You're scaring us Harry," he finished softly.

Harry was livid, he had never been this angry at his friends ever before.

How could they be afraid of him? Didn't they know he would never hurt them?

His magic started to lash out once more, and the windows of the infirmary resumed their cracking as everything started to shake all over again. Bedpans, vases, and other objects started flying through the room.

He looked around at the others, and saw everyone looking at him fearfully except for Snape, who just looked at him incensed.

"I must discuss something with Mr. Potter. Alone." Snape's voice cut through the room calmly eyes narrowed and never leaving Harry's.

No one moved an inch.

"NOW!" he bellowed deafeningly.


	5. Revelation

**Chapter 5. **Revelation

They were alone.

Ron and Hermione had looked at Harry, hesitated, then looked at Snape's murderous expression and fled.

McGonagall had tried to communicate with Snape silently, but he had steadfastly ignored her attempts and declined to look at her, his gaze still locked with Harry's. She had walked off in a huff and Harry swore he had heard her grouse something about 'Pig-headedness and arrogant Slytherins disregarding help'.

Madam Pomfrey had simply refused to be ordered around in her own Hospital Wing, and had left only when a particularly vicious current of Harry's raging magic had almost knocked her unconscious with a bottle of Skelegro.

If Snape wanted to talk, fine, Harry thought heatedly, they could talk. He would let Snape say whatever he wanted to say, considering that Harry already knew that it wouldn't make a difference to him anyway. Then find Madam Pomfrey and _make_ her give him his things back so he could finally leave for Godric's Hollow.

But Snape wasn't talking; Snape was just standing there with the superior, smooth mask of disdain that had formed on his face as soon as the door of the infirmary had closed shut with a '_wham' _behind a rattled Madam Pomfrey.

He eyed his former professor warily, as random medical equipment continued to soar by his line of vision by his blazing untamed magic.

He was still just _so_ angry.

Ron and Hermione, his best friends of almost seven years were _afraid_ of him; his mind just couldn't comprehend their trepidation. He still saw the stricken look Hermione had worn when she had asked him to listen to Snape and it made him furious.

_Listen_ to Snape, honestly! The thought alone made him sick to the stomach. Just because he did not feel the urge to kill the bastard outright, did _not _mean he was suddenly going to obey his every whim.

He could feel his and the Releaser's magic crackle around him in gusts of power, causing the lights of the infirmary to falter and flicker unnervingly over the sharp features of the Potions Master in front of him.

"Well, what do you want?" he finally managed to ground out; after it became abundantly clear that Snape would not be engaging him in conversation anytime soon.

Snape narrowed his eyes for a second, and then as if something had changed and became apparent, only to him, he turned around and placed a locking charm on the infirmary door.

A dark chuckle left Snape's derisive mouth as he saw Harry's puzzled expression and he tutted dangerously, "You lot really_ are _too naive for your own good."

He slowly stepped closer to Harry, his wand poised by his side, his face clouded by the darkness that fell as one of the lights of the infirmary gave out entirely.

"What are you talking about?" demanded Harry irritably.

Snape's face twisted into a sadistic smirk. "What – I – want – is," each word pronounced with each step he took forward, his dark robes billowing after him, "to kill you of course," he announced as if it were obvious, raising his wand and closing in on Harry, his greasy hair rustling alongside his face.

"What?" Harry hissed, nonplussed, looking into Snape's eyes as they glittered with barely restrained contempt.

"You saw me on that tower Potter, I know you did. I read everything in that old fool's mind right before I killed him," he jeered maliciously.

At the mention of Dumbledore's murder and that day on the tower Harry stiffened, a dark shadow creeping over his features as he gazed at his former professor.

"I didn't think Minerva would be so desperate to believe my sob story," Snape mocked, a malevolent glint caught in his eyes, "all it took to convince her was _one_ single tear."

Harry looked at him aghast and felt himself beginning to tremble all over as his already incensed state boiled over like hot lava sliding down his veins at the implications of Snape's words.

"I suppose Albus left her his belief in second chances along with the Headmistress position," Snape ridiculed crudely. "But really, how many chances am I going to be given?" He shook his head in mock wonder.

Could he really have…Snape had lied? Harry thought, stunned with rage.

No, that couldn't be true, Snape had saved him after all, his mind thought furiously.

Dazle had been Snape's house-elf.

Snape had said so himself.

But what if that was a lie as well?

The pendant's magic played up, and he could feel the tendrils of dark magic touch his mind silkily, almost intimately. It was murmuring to him in a soft tempting whisper, dancing around his thoughts in hypnotising swirls.

Snape _had_ lied to them, Harry's brain concluded abruptly. Of course he had. Snape was a Death Eater, and he hadn't changed at all. He was a murderer!

The Releaser throbbed almost painfully against his chest as its magic swamped his mind, burning him where it touched his skin with the scorching heat that was radiating ruthlessly from it.

He is a filthy little liar, his mind continued to screech heatedly. He just wants the pendant all for himself; he wants to keep its magic all to himself!

Harry shook his head firmly to clear off the daze that hugged his thoughts.

No, it couldn't be; it just didn't add up or make sense…

_He is a murderer. _The voice spoke up in his head more persistent and defined this time.

_He has come to kill you and take the pendant away from you._

_He is a murderer!_

Harry's face had lost all his colour and his shaking kept getting worse and worse, as the pendant kept poisoning his mind slowly; the objects still whirling around the room started to pick up pace and twisted around him and Snape in a flurry of magic. The noise was deafening as the objects clattered against each other and the generated wind howled between the walls of the Hospital Wing like an outraged banshee.

"You'll soon join your filthy Mudblood mother and your father, that disgusting excuse for a wizard, James Potter," Snape spat, a livid sneer playing on his features, aiming his wand directly at Harry's heart.

"I've wanted to kill you ever since I laid my eyes on you. You always had been the splitting image of your father of course, in all his arrogance and recklessness. His habit of discarding the rules as if they didn't apply to him," he snarled, his yellowed teeth flashing ferociously in the dim light.

"I had to abandon my persisting desire; I couldn't very well murder you right under the nose of Albus Dumbledore. But now that he's not here to protect his precious little hero, I'll finally be able to do as I wish."

_He is a murderer, he is a killer, he is a Death Eater, he is evil…_kept being chanted through his brain in an intoxicating hymn, and as the tendrils of magic curled around him like a soft woolly blanket not filtering out cold but his every rational thought, he found himself slowly agreeing.

Snape _had_ lied, he _had_ killed Dumbledore because he wanted to, he _had _come to kill him and now Harry was going to die without any means to defend himself because he still didn't have his wand. He was sure he would not be able to control all the wild magic that was consuming him if he tried.

Snape had lied to them. Harry could not believe that they had believed him so easily. How dare Snape come back to Hogwarts, the very place he had defiled and tainted for ever with the murder of Dumbledore? How dare he come in here and lie to them!

He was sure that Ron and Hermione would not look at him the way they had; eyes opened wide in fright after he told them the truth about Snape! He was sure.

His face contorted and blackened with rage, his nostrils flared angrily, and his black eyes swivelled with unrestrained animosity as he clenched his hands into fists. He could feel his nails pushing painfully into the soft skin of his palms as he looked into Snape's dark eyes.

Harry couldn't think. He was unable to add up the simplest of facts or form a logical conclusion. He was just _so_ furious, blinded by his outrage and rage; it was as if the whole world had been saturated in a fog of sweltering red.

"And after I've killed you, Potter," Snape simpered nastily. "I will kill your annoying little friends too. Goodbye," he hissed, his wand still aimed at him.

Harry spread his arms wide when he felt himself soaring just above the floor again and his magic shot him forward, he all but flew at Snape in a fit of rage, arms stretched before him, his hands bent like claws ready to slash at the mans hated face.

A flash of white light speared from Snape's wand and towards Harry, and seconds before Harry reached him the non-verbal spell Snape had used exploded.

Right in front of Harry a large mirror had materialised, successfully blocking Snape from his vision.

He stopped to a stuttering halt, almost going right through the glass, as he was forced to take in his reflection.

What he saw made his heart stop beating in his chest for long seconds and he recoiled backwards as if he had been slapped across the face brutishly with an iron fist.

In the mirror he saw himself hovering slightly above the ground, towering tall and imposing. His skin was a sickly pale hue that glowed with the silver-blue colour the pendant always shone with now. His long black unruly locks floundered restlessly in every direction as if hit with an overdose of electricity, and on his face that was twisted in fury, its complexion totally unrecognisable, his lightning bold scar flamed, emblazoned with a bloody crimson that overshadowed the fiercest sun.

However the most frightening of all his shocking features were his eyes.

They were soiled with the colour of charcoal, swivelling and gleaming freakishly like big black marbles; the white of his eyes a stark contrast against the black of his irises and pupils. Under his lids there were dark shadows displayed, coiled like tiny slithering snakes in a ring of deep grey, making his face look gaunt and haggard as ever.

He looked at the unfamiliar features in the mirror and blanched. That couldn't be him could it? The person reflected before him was glowing with an aura of the blackest and most ancient of magics, almost inhuman.

Snape's voice boomed from behind the mirror, "See what you are becoming, Potter? Do you _want_ to be what you see? A creature of darkness, unable to think your own thoughts, controlled like a puppet on a string!"

_No, this couldn't be true,_ his mind told him. _Snape has tampered with that mirror, that's not me!_

He drifted closer to the glass, and saw his reflection become bigger, then laid his right hand on the cool glass, and watched as his reflection did the same.

"Are you still angry with your friends for being afraid of you when you look like this?" Snape demanded.

The words penetrated through the screen of magic that shielded him and they stung and shattered something inside of him.

His friends had seen him, like this? The thought alone made him feel nauseous, and he had to frantically restrain himself to avoid emptying his still unfilled stomach of the bile that burned his insides.

The mirror wasn't lying to him, it couldn't be. Snape wasn't lying to him, how could he when the evidence in front of him was so clear? How could he blame his friends for being afraid of him when in fact he frightening himself?

His rage left him swiftly and frighteningly like a sudden winter blizzard being swallowed by a great and commanding force, in its stead an enormous tangle of anxiety seemed to have tied itself as rope around his stomach, and he felt cold.

Snape continued relentlessly, "The longer you wear that poisonous thing, the more you will change."

Harry looked at his reflection and lowered his gaze to the pendant that was still resting on his chest. It gave of a light so bright that the glow cut right through the dimness of the infirmary and made his eyes water painfully.

"See what it has done to you within a week! You need to take it off!"

_But you don't want to feel the pain Harry…_

_You don't want to feel the misery and hurt, that's why you need me Harry…_ the pendant lisped tenderly at him.

Harry stretched out his lips until they were as white as chalk, looked at his reflection and grimaced even more deeply as if that were possible.

He didn't want to be controlled by his emotions, that was true.

He needed this.

He needed to feel the hollow emptiness that had him floating on a current of complete numbness ever since he had roared his emotions away.

He hadn't wanted to take his friends to search for the Horcruxes anyway, and that meant that they wouldn't have to be afraid of him, because he wouldn't be near them.

It would be better for everyone if he just kept the Releaser for a while longer, even if he did look like death warmed up. He wouldn't endanger his friends this way, and he would be able to hunt down the Horcruxes without any emotional restrains.

"I…I can't take it off, I just can't…" Harry whispered, his hands still clenched in fists, but now they were trembling, though not in anger but disconcertion.

"It is lying to you Potter," Snape shouted. "What do you think the next step will be? After you've lost your ability to feel so thoroughly and your appearance has changed even more drastically? And I can assure you, that they _will _continue to alter!" he continued angrily, clearly frustrated and annoyed.

"Think Potter!"

"I don't know," breathed Harry, his heart was pounding in his chest like a hammer beating away viciously, "but it doesn't matter, all that matters right now is the destruction of the Horcruxes," he said more to convince himself than Snape.

"No!" Snape barked furiously as he stepped out from behind the cover of the large mirror. His eyes were blazing and his stance was strong and menacing, Harry could clearly see the powerful wizard that was standing before him, demanding him to see reason by sheer will alone.

"What will happen is that you won't have a mind left of your own! The pendant is designed to make the bearer do evil…_evil_, do you understand the definition of evil or have you not listened to anything I've said Potter?" Snape demanded heatedly.

"So what!" Harry countered. "It's not like I would ever hurt anyone," he concluded weakly, doubting his own words as soon as they had left the comfort of his inner thoughts. He did not know why this was affecting him as it was, had the pendant lost some of its power already because of his hesitation?

Snape's eyes glittered in a sinister way, and he sneered at Harry's uncertainty.

"That is _exactly_ what you will do, you foolish boy. You have been releasing powerful dark magic all day. You've nearly destroyed the whole Hospital Wing, and could have seriously injured one of your friends with one of your more fierce emissions of magic. Just look around you, _that's_ the reason why they are frightened of you!"

The infirmary was unrecognisably ruined. Windows had cracked, pillars were dented, bed frames were utterly broken and thrown around like mere rag dolls, all kinds of medical equipment littered the floor, pillows and mattresses were lying torn like plucked chickens and broken shards of potion bottles were strewn, glittering and covering what seemed to be the entire floor.

Harry just gaped at the destroyed Hospital Wing in shock, he started to shiver all over and he felt something creeping on his skin, but didn't know what it was.

He had done this? How…he hadn't even realised!

When Snape next spoke, his voice was calm and commanding, his words cut right through the stubborn but weakening hold of the pendant.

"Maybe you will _inadvertently_ hurt an innocent bystander at first, and maybe you will convince yourself that it was just an accident, only one little accident. But what will you tell yourself when the pendant has blackened your heart to a crisp and you find yourself not caring at all whether you hurt someone or not? Will you tell yourself it is all for the cause, that there was no other way? That the end justifies the means, and that some people just get caught in the crossfire, when you could have prevented their death?"

"No…no I wouldn't, I'd…never," Harry stammered feebly, he stumbled backwards not wanting to look at his damnable reflection any longer and almost fell over an astray bedpan.

Snape advanced on him unrelenting.

"You wouldn't would you?" he mocked mirthlessly, "No of course not, you're the hero of the Wizarding world, the Boy Who Lived, you'd never let yourself be tempted by darkness, how foolish of me to even consider." He feigned regret.

Harry looked at Snape and was eerily reminded of the conversation he had with Malfoy at Spinner's End, when Malfoy had sneered at him just as Snape had done just now, and had told him how he knew Harry had tried to use the Cruciatus on Bellatrix Lestrange.

Snape's eyes glittered maliciously and he chuckled darkly, "Yes I know about that as well, and may I remind you that was you, attempting dark magic _without_ the pendant."

Harry flinched, eyes wide in alarm as he took another involuntary step backwards. Snape, had snatched his thoughts right from his mind, had read his deliberations written in the deep creases of his ashen eyes. Occlumency.

Snape's voice turned to steel and his glimmering eyes hardened visibly. "And if I were you I definitely would not forget last year, when you nearly _murdered_ Mr. Malfoy with one of _my_ inventions," he spat. "You may not have known what the spell was for, as you claim, but that doesn't take away the fact that you had been _successful_ in casting it in the first place! That should tell you more then enough about yourself, 'hero of the Wizarding world' indeed," Snape snorted contemptuously.

Snape wasn't lying. Harry _had_ been tempted by darkness; right after Sirius had been ripped from his life so suddenly and brutally. He would have killed Bellatrix Lestrange right then and there if he had possessed the power to do so, and would have left her body to rot for all to see in the atrium of the Ministry.

But his slate remained clean, he hadn't killed, and Malfoy hadn't died that day in Myrtle's bathroom.

"You could you know, you certainly look the part," Snape started, again calm and composed, his face blank as a white linen sheet, his voice indifferent, "become like _him,_ heartless and numb to all but hate, slowly beginning to feel exhilarated by the devastations and ruins all around you, glorifying in one, and one state of mind only; revenge."

_Oh how gratifying it would be! _Whispered the pendant at him lovingly, stroking his mind softly as if it were its familiar.

No! Harry thought desperately.

What had it been that Voldemort had said to him?

That he had remarkably good features, a talent for dark magic. _Voldemort's_ features.

_Great features worthy of Salazar himself! I can see it too it lies dormant within you, talents that should not be wasted! _ The releaser lisped intensely, excitedly.

No…he wouldn't ever…

_Let me help you Harry, with me guiding you and showing you the way to absolute power you will be great. No one would be able to stop us…no one!_

Harry's body started to shudder more violently, as if he were standing in the centre of an earthquake. The creeping on his skin that he'd felt earlier became more pronounced and covered his arms with goosebumps, as his hackles rose. He knew exactly what it was now.

Dread.

Dread for the truth that Snape was speaking. Dread for what the pendant, he, just minutes ago had firmly believed, was telling him now.

Dread…for the pendant which had become his solace, his friend.

His only hope.

His drawn face lost even more of its colour, which made him appear almost as translucent as one of the Hogwarts ghosts, and the pendant that hung from his neck started to lose its flaring silver-blue light.

"Everything else would be insignificant," continued Snape insistently as he noticed the change in the pendant.

Snape looked him right in the eye unwavering, and Harry had to remind himself to breathe when the ex-Potions Master's gaze not only seemed to penetrate his thoughts but his very soul.

"Revenge. Revenge for your parents, revenge for Sirius, and revenge for everyone you lost at the hands of _him_ and his followers," interjected Snape fiercely in between Harry's thoughts, "And if you succeed in destroying him, what will you do with your hate? What will you do with all the pent up emotions? Would you become the next Dark Lord to arise from the ashes of the one you burned down?"

_You could become the next Dark Lord; I would make you do so many magnificent things! _The Releaser practically preened, not yet noticing that that was the wrong thing to say.

_You're wrong, it isn't true…I would never! _Harry screeched back at it wildly, his mind nearly exploding from all the conflicting thoughts that wildly coursed through it.

"Or would you join his ranks?" Snape pressed on heatedly, his voice resonating through the ruins of the Hospital Wing loudly.

No, he would never become like Voldemort! Harry wouldn't allow it. He would never be like the man that had killed his parents and had brought so much desolation to so many that had not deserved what had been done to them.

"The pendant, would only aid and feed the darkness that already resides within you, it would add to it and make sure it would consume you ever faster, you must take it off!"

Snape really wasn't lying, and Harry could now see that he hadn't lied to him or the others either but only _pretended_ that he had to some how make Harry _see_.

And Harry saw now, he saw it so clearly.

Convulsions shook Harry's lithe frame even more deeply, and he could feel the tendrils around his mind hissing and shrieking in pain as if they were being sated in the hot boiled oil of his revulsion and denouncement. He could feel them melting and weeping within him like infants, begging him to reconsider. Telling him that he would be nothing without it, that he'd be weak and worthless, a hopeless sack of brimming emotions.

Snape was still talking, but Harry couldn't hear him anymore. All that he heard and saw was himself and the pendant as he stared back into the mirror. A scorching disgust and loathing awakened upon what he saw, and the still insistent wailing of the pendant made his teeth gnash like chalk on a chalkboard.

It was all so clear to him now; this thing wasn't his hope at all.

It was his condemnation.

He saw his hand in the reflection of the mirror twist upwards, as it moved towards the Releaser. The chain felt cold and as weighty as lead in his open palm. There was almost no light shining off it now.

The pendant wasn't begging him anymore, it knew it had lost, instead it was furious and Harry could once again feel the heavy dark and poisonous magic humming and drumming, pounding his very foundation relentlessly as it had done when Dazle had hung it around his neck and it had first touched his bare skin. He felt nauseous and dazed, but most of all repulsed.

He lifted the chain, and for one frightened moment, as he went to lift it over his head completely he feared that it wouldn't come off and that he had to bear the Releaser until his dying day and until far beyond in the afterlife. But it did go over his head, and soon it was lying in his hand.

He turned to look at it once more in a moment of weakness, with a sense of loss and regret when it struck out one last time with a desperate force and taint of blackness that seemed to sear Harry's skin to ash through where the Releaser still touched him and connected with him, obliterating his bones to dust.

Agony as he had never felt before rushed through him, it weakened his legs to quivering sticks and he fell to his knees his head tilted up skywards as a last torrent of black magic ripped through him mercilessly, back arching and mouth opened wide as a scream that could have wakened the dead was pulled out of it.

Harry tried to let go of the pendant, but it wouldn't budge as he turned his hand upside down. It stuck to the palm of his hand as if burned into his flesh. Blood was pounding in his ears, and he could feel all the rage and darkness of the Releaser grind into him as if marking him, marking every inch and cell of his body.

He didn't understand.

He had done what Snape told him to do; he had taken the pendant off.

What was happening?

His eyes searched wildly and found Snape staring at him in horror, his face paler then normal and Harry was _sure_ he definitely saw concern flicker across the man's face this time.

Harry gazed back at him in panic, tears of pain blurring his vision, while the pendant still pumped that torrent of vileness through his body.

It could only have been seconds since he had pulled the treacherous thing over his head but it felt like hours. No; days.

Snape's voice charged through his stupor of pain and with a lightning fast "Accio!" that not only seemed to tear the pendant away from him but his whole arm as well, the Releaser finally left his skin.

Harry sagged to the floor completely, relief drowning out everything else. Every sense, feeling or clear thought he could muster seemed to be a far away thing that wasn't important until confronted with directly.

Snape had already tucked the chain away safely in his black billowing robes and was striding toward him. He was beside him so quickly, dragging Harry up painfully by his shoulders peering into his face with intent eyes that seemed to burn, that Harry could have sworn he had Apparated if he hadn't been lectured countless of times by Hermione about the impossibility of Apparating in Hogwarts or its grounds.

Snape's big callused hands came up to feel his cheeks, next his forehead then back to his chin, tilting his face this way and that, scrutinizing him with a wave of emotions Harry never had thought existed in the man, he could now definitely identify concern among those emotions.

Harry frowned at him trying to push away, but Snape's grip was like steel and after a few futile attempts to get some distance between them, he figured his legs probably wouldn't be able to support him in his current state anyway, and gave up, instead, contented himself with glaring at the man.

To his surprise Snape's dark eyes widened fractionally, and he felt the man stiffen as his hand drew back from Harry's face as if burned, his mouth pressing into a thin horizontal line.

Harry frowned again, but this time in confusion.

He had glared at the Potions Master countless of times before, it was practically his set expression for looking at Snape, but never had his glares have any visible effects on the man and he hadn't expected it to have now. He had just glared out of habit.

"What?" Harry grated without thought, still consumed by his relief. He was breathing heavily, and he noticed that _he _was actually the one that was _leaning_ on Snape now. His legs felt as if they had competed in a marathon and wanted to fall out underneath him like dominoes. His entire body felt exhausted and bruised all over, muscles burning and aching with the slightest motions.

Snape narrowed his eyes, brought both of his hands back up to the sides of Harry's face, definitely more hesitant this time Harry noted, and resumed peering into his face as if trying to read something far away, while sneering at him.

Well, Snape_ tried _to sneer at him anyway; it actually looked more like a half-grimace half-sneer, which Harry decided after a few seconds of contemplation, was decidedly worse.

"_What?_" Harry demanded again, but he might as well have been talking to a stone for all the answers he got. His eyes flashed in annoyance and he sighed loudly and immediately wished he hadn't as the considerable up and down wards motion of his chest felt as if a cleaver was hacking his ribs into pieces of firewood.

After that, breathing felt like swallowing large strips of barbwire every time he inhaled, and purging even larger pieces of barbwire back up whenever he exhaled, so he focussed on not breathing at all which consequently led to not talking either.

He gripped his arms around his burning chest and gritted his teeth, suppressing the low painful moan that threatened to escape with difficulty, and went back to glaring.

This time glaring did nothing except for bringing a faint expression of wry amusement on Snape's face, as he kept on examining Harry closely, which made Harry's eyes bulge outward in incredulity.

Well maybe the eye bulging had also something to do with the fact that his last supply of fresh air had been a good twenty-five seconds ago, he thought grimly.

By the expression on Snape's face the bastard knew exactly what was bothering him and was deliberately not answering his questions to see if Harry was foolish enough to keep demanding explanations, and continue not to breathe.

Snape flashed his teeth menacingly, and half-sneered half-grimaced for all he was worth, staring into Harry's eyes still with more then a hint of dark amusement, taunting him to ask his question again, taunting him to breathe.

Harry set his jaw stubbornly, straightened himself in Snape's grasp stiffly albeit slowly, wincing a little, and just gazed back at the man with one insolent eyebrow raised.

Still not breathing.

Snape's grimace seemed to have filtered itself out of the sneer entirely as he realised Harry wasn't planning on talking _or_ breathing for that matter, leaving behind one of his more disdainful expressions to darken his face back to its original colour. Which was still awfully pale, mind you, but at least this was something Harry could deal with, it was familiar seeing Snape look at him this way, and when he tried, he could almost ignore the fact that Snape's sneer didn't reach his eyes. Eyes that still seemed to flicker across Harry's face with worry.

Dark spots started to float before his vision and he could practically feel his face fading away from a deep angry red to a sickly blue hue with each passing second, but he refused to give the man any satisfaction.

And that…that _man_ was still just _looking_ at him with those slightly troubled eyes that made Harry want to scream and tear his hair out. Instead of answering Snape was shaking his head in open disgust, rolling his eyes to the heavens as if asking a higher power for patience. The Potions Master let out a long suffering sigh, and then turned his eyes back to Harry's face to give him an equally long level look.

And then his face changed.

The first thing Harry noticed was that Snape's eyes seemed to get bigger. To be completely honest he actually thought Snape must have gotten something in his eyes because they started to twitch alarmingly causing the lines near the edges to become more pronounced, Harry wasn't really sure.

Then the ends of his lips started the battle of turning upwards, and Harry could see the muscles in his face clearly struggling against the upwards motion as if in conflict with itself. And then his mouth started to stretch out, and his gaunt cheeks jutted upwards, his lips parted and a sliver of yellow teeth became visible all the while his eyes were still twitching frantically, and they actually seemed to _shine _with effort.

Maybe Snape was getting ill, he thought hopefully. He certainly didn't look very comfortable with his face straining like that.

It would serve him right, thought Harry viciously.

"Are you quite finished? No?" Snape spoke calmly. "Well then, I'll just stand here while you suffocate yourself to death and make _all _of or lives easier," he continued pleasantly.

And with a dawning horror that almost seemed to stop his heart beating in his chest Harry realised what it was Snape was doing.

He was smiling.

He was actually _smiling_!

At Harry.

It was so disconcerting that before Harry could stop himself he had flinched back, eyes opened wide in shock as his brows climbed up to hide behind a raven lock of hair that flittered across his forehead. He was so stunned that he froze completely; his head that was already lacking sufficient oxygen seemed to be determined in wanting to roll off his torso.

It wasn't a friendly smile at all Harry admitted, and he didn't think Snape meant it to be anywhere _near_ friendly.

He just stared at the man as if Snape had gone insane, mouth opening and closing feverishly, Harry felt himself shake, especially his head.

He felt light-headed, his vision blurring abruptly; which was kind of a relief because he didn't want to look at that…that '_smile'_ any longer, and he was swaying like straw in the wind, desperate and helpless to nature. He didn't seem to be able to think at all no matter how hard he tried, it was as if his brain had shut down on him and someone had closed thick blinds all around him so that he found himself in a fast nearing darkness.

A hand descended upon his cheek with excruciating speed that made his skin flare and his neck to snap back in surprise. He yelped loudly clutching his cheek, which caused a flood of air to rush into his empty lungs, and he wheezed dangerously as he realised he had actually _forgotten_ he wasn't breathing and had just kept on _not_ breathing when Snape had stunned him with that hideous smile of his.

"I always knew you weren't the brightest bulb in the box, but even _I_ wouldn't have thought you would be dim-witted enough to actually _forget_ to breathe!" Snape simpered.

It took a moment for Harry to get his bearings and when he did he growled dangerously at the man. Snape had _hit_ him! How dare he? He didn't care how often Snape had saved his life; he had probably saved his life just now again, he reflected sourly.

But that still gave him no right to hit him like that! He could have found a different way to remind him how to…to breathe.

He flushed like a flame as soon as that embarrassing thought had slithered out of his contemplations.

_Only an idiot forgets how to breathe_, he thought savagely.

He opened his stubborn mouth to say something scathing anyway and to demand an apology, after all Snape was not his teacher anymore; Harry was no longer afraid to stand up against him scared of retributions, but before he could utter a single word Snape cut him off.

"I don't have time for your foolish pride boy," he snapped, "tell me, what do you feel?"

"I feel fine," he snapped back immediately, without sparing so much as a second of thought for the answer. He flushed an even deeper embarrassing red, until he figured his face must have resembled a bonfire instead of a single flame. Why did this man always know how to infuriate him so?

He stiffened his back, on the point of telling the Potions Master that he wouldn't stand for it, that he wouldn't be bullied by him any longer. But as he met Snape's commanding stare with an opposing stare of his own, something in those smouldering eyes stopped him short.

The worry, which he had detected before but had ignored, were so prominent in that gaze that it curdled his tongue as effectively as if a knife had cut it off. It all dawned on him again like a shower of ice water; the Portotalus, the pendant and its lies and Snape taking the pendant away from him in that moment of agony when it refused to come off his skin.

He realised that he had been acting every bit the fool Snape was making him out to be.

In that torrent of relief he had felt after the wretched thing left his palm, he had banished everything from his immediate thoughts to just be relieved that the poisonous touch of dark magic had stopped thundering through him like a black monstrous creature. His heart had stopped clutching in torment, and he had let himself fall to the floor as his limbs gave way.

After that his mind had been too confounded to realise what he was doing or saying, he had been an idiot to let himself wander so far.

Snape tightened his hold on Harry's shoulders, unaware of his nails that were digging in Harry's flesh painfully. He leaned in even closer, his eyes like burning black torches that could melt metal.

"Don't you lie to me," he hissed. "_What_ do you feel? Tell me. _Now_," demanded Snape.

What _did_ he feel?

Harry guessed he still felt relieved.

He also felt a bit bruised and his muscles ached as if he had had a very intense match of Quidditch that lasted all day.

Tired.

He did feel tired.

And his lungs still felt as if they had been on fire, and that fire had only recently burned itself out.

Other then that, he also felt a bit annoyed with himself but most of all with Snape, but he didn't consider that anything new or out of the ordinary.

"I…don't know," he replied hesitantly.

"What do you mean you don't know," exploded Snape clearly on the edge of his patience, not that Harry suspected he actually had much to begin with. Eyes wide and commanding, Snape started shaking Harry with his hands that still held a painful grip on him, as if he could rattle the answer out of Harry's brain if he only used enough force.

"_Think!_" Snape bit out harshly.

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration and tried to struggle against the mans hold. "I don't know! I don't know!" he shouted angrily, "I don't know how I feel; I don't know _what _I feel. I don't feel anything.

"Nothing!"

"I feel _nothing _alright!" his voice echoed deafeningly through the ruined Hospital Wing.

He was breathing heavily and scowling furiously and then he realised what it was he had just shouted and gasped. It was the odd detachment that disconnected him from everything that he identified with crystal clarity now. That floating screen of stoicism that he could feel had created a barrier around his basic emotions so that he could still recognise them and know what they meant, but he thought he no longer would be able to actually touch or _feel_ most of them.

Snape's face looked stricken, at least Harry thought it had a second ago, before he blinked and glowered back into an eerily blank and composed face, which made him second-guess himself and conclude he must have imagined it.

Snape's arms dropped from his shoulders and to Harry's surprise he could stand unsupported, although still wavering slightly.

"Nothing?" restated Snape softly, impassively. His eyes dull and his face smoothed out carefully into an expressionless mask.

Harry nodded slowly, rubbing one of his sore shoulders, his face darkening and shooting a heated look at the man in front of him. He had known he could still feel anger.

"Are you quite certain?" Snape asked, his voice almost a whisper now, ignoring the murderous look on Harry's face.

"Yes," Harry bit out sourly, looking at Snape curiously.

The silence that fell was as loud as a thunderclap.

They just stood there for a few minutes, looking at each other standing in the midst of broken shards and littered objects, overturned beds and smashed medical equipment. Harry was still trying to set Snape's face on fire with his glower, and Snape was still looking at Harry blankly as if he were trying to look at the cracked wall behind him by looking _through_ Harry.

Abruptly Snape's gaze seemed to focus, and his dark eyes looked at Harry with the deep intensity his stare always carried. He stood rigid, back stiff and head high, his expression of nothing transforming back into his famous scornful sneer as if it never had left his face. And when he next spoke, he seemed to be back to his resentful self again.

"Well, it could have been worse," he sneered at Harry sardonically, eyes flashing dangerously, "the backlash of the pendant could as well have fried your brain to a crisp like it has done to most bearers, as I originally thought it had. Not that _that_ would have been a discernible difference in your case, of course," he mocked maliciously.

Harry clenched his fists in irritation, and crushed his lips together determinedly until there seemed to be no blood circulating through them anymore.

"What must now be done, and done immediately will be beginning to determine how severe the damage is."

Harry nodded again, this time grudgingly.

He could see sense in what Snape said.

He was certain that he wasn't insane, but he wasn't so sure in how far that pendant had hurt him physically. If he was going to hunt for the Horcruxes soon; he needed to be fit and he realised that he also didn't really mind not being able to feel the pain and grief that was shielded behind that thick solid wall of stoicism. He could feel it there, he was aware of the fact that it _was_ there and he was glad that he didn't have to deal with those emotions presently. He didn't really understand completely, he knew he felt certain things, like anger for example, but at times he didn't feel anything at all.

"I'm afraid you're going to need your wand for that,"

"My wand? Well, I don't have it. McGonagall probably has it for safe keeping, it isn't here."

Snape sneered at him again. "You believe McGonagall has your wand?" he deadpanned, one perfect shaped eyebrow raised mockingly.

"Well, yes," he answered, frowning, "she would-" _have kept it safe for me. _That's what he had planned on saying before he had cut himself off as a disturbing memory played out before his eyes.

_Him on his knees, searching wildly for a way to defend himself. Turning around. His own wand, being pointed at him by a steady pale arm, and a sneering grey-eyed gaze._

"Malfoy," he deduced wearily, he sighed and ran a hand through his unmanageable black hair in resignation.

Malfoy had been the last person to have his wand,he thought glumly.

Malfoy who was dead.

Snape flashed his teeth and peered down his long hooked-nose at Harry as if looking at a very determined insect that had avoided being crushed too many times. His black greasy hair was framing his thin sour looking face like a curtain of slime.

"Indeed… Malfoy."

"But Malfoy is dead," Harry replied flatly.

Snape's condescending scowl was so cold, that it would not have been far fetched to believe it could freeze Harry's insides to ice, and harvest icicles to hang from his nose.

Without another word he turned on his heel, his robes flying angrily with the abrupt movement, and strode resolutely towards the large, dented doors of the infirmary, which remarkably were still closed and locked.

Before Snape had reached the way out, he lifted his wand and the double-doors rocketed open, smashing roughly against the walls that loomed on either side. The sound of his boots; crunching broken items underneath his soles sharply trailed after him, as he soon vanished through the doors and down the hall, leaving Harry to stare after him with a confused frown on his face.

Did Snape blame Malfoy's death on him?

_He probably did_, Harry thought, letting out a long suffering sigh.

Snape had always been successful in finding ways to make _everything_ Harry's fault. But this time Harry could not exactly blame him.

Snape had clearly done everything in his power to ensure Malfoy's safety. He even claimed Dumbledore had asked him to save Malfoy, which Harry did not doubt.

After all, he still recalled clearly how Dumbledore had offered Malfoy protection; for him and his family that day on the tower.

After all he _had_ been the one to ruin all Snape's precautions by destroying the shield that had been cast over Spinner's End, number thirty-one, and storming in like a rabid dog to only let himself get caught and marched off to the Death-Eaters like a pup to the dog pound.

He assumed Snape had been one of the few people in Hogwarts to actually like Malfoy besides the other Slytherins. Well, he wasn't exactly sure in how far Snape's emotions _could_ actually like or be fond of someone, true. But he was certain that Snape had cared for Draco Malfoy.

Well, Harry refused to allege that he would miss Malfoy even _if_ he was partly to blame. He had not liked Malfoy, not one bit. And he considered it safe to say that the feeling had been mutual. It would only be pretentious to act as if he did or had for that matter, now.

He started forward in a trot to catch up with Snape, as he noted that his ex-professor had just reached the end of the corridor and vanished around the corner in a swirl of robes.

Harry had only taken two steps before his face contorted in pain and he hissed audibly when he felt sharp pieces of glass and stone dig into his bare feet piercingly and made him halt in an abrupt stop.

He was still wearing his pyjamas, which also meant that he _wasn't_ wearing any shoes.

He searched around for a clear path across the room but was gloomily disappointed when all he found was a fractured floor, littered with what seemed to be an endless sea of brilliant chunks of glass and pottery; broken bottles, potion vials, cups and mugs, several fragile medical apparatuses and appliances that had been shattered. Pots of variable sizes all in shards, crunched vases and bowls, smashed plates and basins and what seemed like _every _single thing that could have been classified as frail had fallen to pieces, blanketing the entire Hospital Wing.

He grimaced and feverishly wished he had slippers on, but standing here all day wishing for slippers would not make them appear, and it would not get Harry out of the Hospital Wing.

He gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into white-knuckled fists and started for the doors again that still stood wide open, this time more slowly and careful of where he placed his feet. Tiptoeing and manoeuvring his way across, cringing each time a particularly thorny shard seared through the thin layer of skin underneath his feet, he finally managed to reach the doors out of the infirmary.

As he finally stepped over the threshold and through the doorway into the corridor, he lifted his feet up one at a time and picked out several persistent glass splinters that had attached themselves like glue to the bottom of his feet.

The cuts were numerous but shallow, and did not hurt exactly; just a sort of unpleasant stinging that was rather irritating. There was also some blood, but not so much that it could be a bother to him; he just ignored it while at the same time nurturing a malicious thought that Filch would hopefully be the one to be saddled with the mundane task of cleaning his blood from the stone tiles all over the castle.

And the best part; without being able to get Harry into trouble for it.

He contemplated walking crisscross through every existing corridor in Hogwarts, before he realised that would be very impractical, not to mention take him _days_ to accomplish.

He stood up stiffly and peered into the hallway. He had not expected Snape to wait for him while he was busy cutting his own feet to shreds trying to cross the infirmary, so Harry wasn't surprised when he learnt that his assumption had been a correct one.

The passageway was eerily clear of life. The stone walls seemed almost bleak and hollow as if they knew something was missing, as if they could feel the absence of Albus Dumbledore.

Muttering to himself, Harry broke into a run that was far from painless. Even though his muscles had been allowed some time to warm and gather a shred of strength, he still felt decidedly faint and weariness seemed to loom over him like a giant waiting to pounce and crush him.

He hobbled awkwardly through the empty corridor wincing with every step, staggered around the corner where Snape had disappeared from sight and stopped.

It had taken Harry at least ten minutes to leave the Hospital Wing and remove the glass from his heels.

Which meant Snape could be anywhere by now.

He looked around in frustration as if to find some clue written in the air of which way to go to uncover the hated man's location when a thought occurred to him.

The Great Hall.

There were people in the Great Hall.

Harry was sure Madam Pomfrey had mentioned something about people being there at one point. At least it was better than roaming through the entire castle until he stumbled upon a form of life by chance or managed to bleed to death from the tiny little cuts that marred his feet.

He nodded to himself and made up his mind as he continued his wobbly stride along the corridor, down a flight of marble stairs, into the vast Entrance Hall which he crossed swiftly, and to the massive wooden double doors of Great Hall that stood wide open.

What he saw still managed to surprise him despite the fact that he had known to some extent that Hogwarts had some early residents.

People were occupying the vast chamber, seemingly enjoying a spot of lunch underneath a ceiling of bright blue sky that reflected the weather outside, where the sun undoubtedly shone brilliantly. Every table appeared to be partially in use by small clusters of wizards and witches here and there, chattering amicably to one another while eating chicken and ham sandwiches, rolls, sausages and toast washed down by mugs of tea, or pumpkin juice-filled goblets.

What really made him stare as if his eyes were about to pop out and fall to the floor was the fact that there weren't merely students but _entire_ families. He recognised several of the DA members surrounded by parents, sisters and brothers, and some other students he knew by face but never in truth had spoken to.

He saw Luna dressed in a lime-green ruffled dress with earrings that looked to be made of seashells sitting with what Harry thought must be her father; a grizzled short fellow with hair that exploded around his face like a hedgehog, wearing thick-glassed, oval-shaped goggles on his bold nose and a bright yellow robe that seemed to be far too wide, decorated with red embroidery of a creature Harry had never seen before. A matching top hat was resting on the table next to his plate.

The obvious connection could not be missed by anyone short of blind.

They were sitting next to Padma and Parvati Patil at the Ravenclaw table, who were crammed in between their parents wearing identical sulky frowns.

Padma was idly stirring her porridge with a spoon while Parvati appeared to be trying to kill her toast with her knife by stabbing it relentlessly over and over again; both were alternating between shooting dark glares at their father and mother, and pouting in frustration as they were fastidiously ignored.

Over at the Hufflepuff table Zacharias Smith was talking soothingly to a slender strawberry-blond woman in light blue robes who had an equally blond child in her lap; a boy of about six years old playing with fried egg on his mother's plate. Her eyes were rimmed with red as if she had been crying recently, and Smith cast his eyes about quickly, a faint rose colour painted his cheeks, seemingly embarrassed.

At the end of that table he observed Susan Bones, her hair sported into the long plait that fanned down her back, amidst what Harry supposed were her mother and father and what must be an older brother of about Bill's age.

A stab of guilt made his stomach flutter accusingly as his eyes swept over the Gryffindor table to a small assembly of red heads. A decidedly smaller gathering then it should have been.

Ron was furiously chomping down on a roll, oblivious to his surroundings, his arm already reaching out for a chicken sandwich before he took the last bite out of his roll.

Hermione was sitting close to his left, shaking her head in desolated disgust. Her lips opening and closing fiercely, and although Harry could not hear the words she uttered, he was certain she was berating Ron for his abysmal table manners, while balancing a gigantic tome with yellowed pages, which were sometimes curled at the ends, in her lap.

Ron, however, gave no outward sign of hearing anything at all.

Arthur Weasley sat slumped on the bench opposite him, reading the Daily Prophet which cover looked to consist of an enormous moving image of a house that was burning. Huge flames lapped up the walls on the page, consuming the entire building, before the whole construction crumpled down in a heap of dust and ash. The Dark Mark appeared, slashing a vicious green overhead while the protruding serpent's tongue slithered across the paper.

Aghast, Harry looked on as the whole thing started anew.

A large bandage was rolled all around Arthur's head, his robes were wrinkled and he had a slight stubble covering his chin. He looked as if he had not slept in a week's time, which Harry admitted despondently, he probably hadn't.

George was sitting next to him, he was visibly a striking contrast to his father's dejected appearance. He was wearing one of those cheeky grins that said he knew something you didn't, and you would find out soon in a most unpleasant and inconvenient fashion if he had any say in the matter, while whispering with Lee Jordan, heads bowed low together.

Harry narrowed his eyes and quickly scanned the room for Fred but was unable to spot him, which made him decidedly uncomfortable.

He was as sure as the sun would come up tomorrow and start a new day that this could only mean one single thing: trouble.

Out of seemingly no where an outbreak of black robes swooped down on him like a large bat from the high ceiling, dragging him by the scruff of his neck, forward toward the teachers table where Headmistress McGonagall sat, gazing levelly over the unusual gathering.

By the silence that fell over the room as he was huddled forward harshly, occasionally broken by a gasp or a quick whispered word, no one had noticed him standing still in the entrance before now.

"Look who it is, the hero of the Wizarding world has finally decided to grace us with his presence," hissed Snape coldly, softly, "how very _kind_ and most _generous _of you."

By the sharp nails that dug into Harry's neck agonizingly he concluded Snape didn't think it very kind or generous at all.

Harry's face reddened to contend with a baboon's backside as the muttered voices around him started to pick up. He wrenched himself free out of Snape's adamant hold roughly, and rounded on Snape furiously.

"If _you_ hadn't stormed off," Harry began savagely, "just like a silly little _twit_ in a tantrum and . . ." his voice trailed off feebly as he stared into an unfamiliar face that was darkened in blatant fury.

His eyes widened comically and he gaped in shock at the strange man standing before him.

A tall gangly looking guy in black robes, with a long and narrow looking face that held eyes of the coldest arctic blue imaginable, froze Harry on the spot.

His mouth worked soundlessly before he finally managed to croak, "I…I'm sorry..err Sir I-" he swallowed hard and continued breathily, "I thought you… I mean, I thought you were someone else, I apolo-"

He cut off again as a very familiar and odious sneer bloomed on the man's face.

"You _what_ Potter? Could it really almost have been an apology, _however_ deplorably insincere and unsatisfactory, you were about to utter?" said the man coolly, eyes swivelling with unrestrained contempt, "Clearly, my ears are misleading me, wouldn't you say so Headmistress McGonagall?"

The stranger turned his face toward McGonagall, and Harry realised that they had reached the teachers table where the Headmistress sat stiff backed, pursing her lips in annoyance, glaring at them forebodingly.

Harry's face flushed scarlet, more in anger than humiliation and continued to gawk at the man for good measure. That was _definitely_ Snape's voice! He would recognise that hateful speech _any_where. But how? He could practically _feel_ the light bulb flash on in his scalp, shining brilliantly as he whispered under his breath, "Polyjuice…_of course."_

Snape could hardly prance around as himself while the whole Wizarding Wold believed he had murdered Albus Dumbledore. Well in their defence he _had_ of course, but there were extenuating circumstances that had to be taken into consideration, that they simply did not know about, and would probably find hard to believe even _if_ they were told.

Admittedly, Harry would not have believed it either, only a week ago. Not before his emotions stopped controlling his every decision or thought, with not just a little help from the Releaser. And now, its backlash upon removal had made sure his emotions were still walled off securely even without the pendant.

Also, if Snape still planned on masquerading as a Death Eater, part of Voldemort's inner circle, then getting exposed would be nothing other than fatal, more importantly; completely _useless_ to the Order.

He sealed his lips shut tightly when Polyjuiced-Snape's head whipped back to him so fast that Harry thought it might break off, his eyes spoke icy murder, and he growled at him while still managing to whisper in a low vexed voice, "You keep that to yourself, do you _understand_ Potter, if not, I'll make _sure_ you understand. After I'm through with you I'll make you wish you-"

And at that exact moment a loud boom resonated over the Slytherin table, successfully cutting off Polyjuiced-Snape's angry tirade and distracting everyone's attentions off of them.

Harry only now noticed with astonishment, that the Slytherin table wasn't empty like he had assumed, there had been a small family sitting at the far end of the table opposite Harry, consisting of two people.

Blaise Zabini sat with his mother, scowling at everyone openly, his dark hand holding a quill that was poised on a piece of parchment before him. His handsome face was obviously a gift inherited from his mother, a dark woman with black shimmering hair that fell to her waist, and startling eyes that peered around levelly in a blank stare, her face as expressive as a wooden fence.

A small whirlwind of green smoke had accumulated itself abruptly right above the pair and drops the colour of acid started to _pour_ down on their heads.

Trouble.

Blaise Zabini shrieked in an unmanly way trying to save the letter he had been writing by throwing himself on it, covering it with his robes. His mother had jumped up with a squeal of outrage, and tried to step out underneath the cloud, but no matter where she stood it followed her persistently like a magnet. Soon both of them looked like two identical drenched cats, soaked from top to toe, puddles of murky green forming around their shoes.

An uproarish laughter exploded from the Gryffindor table where George and Lee Jordan were clasping hands and slapping Fred on the back, who now, stood next to them, giving a low bow and flourishing his right arm vigorously so that no one could miss its gritty black colour and glimmering, marbled texture.

Blaise seemed to be trembling with rage, his letter, ink-stained and stuck to the front of his robes as he straightened. He took one threatening step forward, his arm reaching inside the folds of his robes, undoubtedly searching for his wand when his mother, also quivering with fury, only a more silent and composed one, laid a hand on his shoulder and whispered something into his ear. He nodded stiffly, and both strode briskly across the room and out of the Great Hall with admirable dignity, that was only muted by the acid cloud that followed their departure like a balloon on a string.

Harry just stood in shock, and he wasn't the only one. Snape stood stock still as if he had taken root into the granite floor. Everyone, for that matter, sat petrified in their seats like stone gargoyles, even Ron who sat with his mouth open as if he were trying to catch flies, and Hermione who had a stern look of disapproval fixed on her face.

Everyone but Arthur Weasley, who looked like a man who had _just_ lost a battle with his last feeble grasp on patience, and detonated like a rocket racing to the moon.

Arthur Weasley advanced on his sons like a prowling tiger, his hands coming up as fast as lightning to take an ear of each into his hands and tugged hard, nailing Lee Jordan with his furious gaze for lack of a third hand, but as effectively, as Lee who had tried to slink off unnoticeably, stopped in his tracks.

"Seeing as you _continue_ to act like little children!" he bellowed, as red in the face as his hair, "I see no other way _but _to treat you like you lot actually _are_!" he continued crossly. "I have had enough, you will go and apologise. Now!"

He started off for the doors, following the path of jade liquid that had washed away most of Harry's bloody footprints, and traced out of the room and across the Entrance Hall, towing the twins after him with a twist of his hand that made them yelp aloud. Lee Jordan following silently, feet dragging and his head bowed so low that his dreadlocks, that now fell well over his shoulders, obscured his face.

"But dad," interrupted George, sounding every bit the sulking child, no matter his age.

"They are Slytherins!" finished Fred hotly.

"Not every Slytherin is evil, and not every non-Slytherin is good! Or have you forgotten a certain rat? You are not the only ones that have lost their home," Arthur thundered, "open your eyes and look around you! Hogwarts is a place of safety for anyone who needs it, do you hear me, anyone!"

Fred and George appeared to be shaking in their boots, eyes round like saucers, staring at their father wildly. Harry couldn't blame them; he had never _ever_ seen Mr. Weasley anywhere like this ever before.

"You just wait till your mother has awakened from her coma," he threatened harshly, which seemed to have been the correct way to stop the twin's weakening protestations entirely, and paled their now miserable faces until their freckles looked like they had the measles, "and I tell her all about your _pranks_, she will set you straight. You just wait!"

Arthur's shouts were soon nothing more than an angry muffled voice, as they disappeared from sight, and at once the Great Hall exploded in a confusion of noise, some were laughing and calling out with compliments to the three ex-Gryffindors, others were shaking their heads and fists in indignation.

McGonagall shot a cold glare at the jeering people, who fell silent quickly, then levelled her voice so that it carried over the vast room, and announced resignedly, "Lunch is over, everyone please return to your appointed chambers and rooms. The Great Hall will be closed to visitors from now until dinner."

Slowly the Great Hall started to file out. People talked together quietly about what had just happened and Harry heard words from; _Harry Potter,_ _Death Eaters spies_, to _tasteless pranks, _and _Gryffindors._

Only Hermione and Ron remained staring at Harry nervously, after everyone else had left, but with a look from McGonagall and a glare from the Polyjuiced Snape it was clear that _everyone_ also included them.

Harry shrugged at them and tried to smile to let them know he was no longer angry with them, but he figured it came out more like a grimace, when at the same time he had remembered _why_ he had been angry with them to begin with.

Hermione shot him one last worried look over her shoulder, and pushed Ron out of the doors ahead of her.

Harry sighed and turned to look at McGonagall, trying his best to ignore Snape and pretend he was not there.

With a wave of her wand, McGonagall send the doors of the Great Hall flying shut, and studied both of them for a long second.

This also made Harry pretend he was _not _standing barefooted in his pyjamas, in the Great Hall being scrutinised by the Headmistress.

"Are you certain there is no other way?" she asked finally, her gaze resting on Snape.

"I am certain," replied Polyjuiced-Snape stiffly.

She sniffed loudly but nodded.

"Very well, I've already prepared a Portkey."

She exposed a small porcelain figurine of a witch with a sleeping cat on her head, out of her dark blue robes, and touched it lightly as if tickling the sleeping cat, then handed it to Snape who accepted it readily.

"I will send word as soon as I have returned."

"See that you do."

Snape nodded.

"Wait a minute, where is he going," demanded Harry, annoyed at being excluded from the conversation.

"_We_ are going to fetch your wand of course," answered Snape, leering at him disdainfully.

Harry ignored him.

"Headmistress McGonagall," Harry started, "my wand was taken from me by Draco Malfoy, who I believe has been killed by his father," he continued, ignoring Snape's deep throated growl, "he must have given it to Voldemort before he," he cleared his throat. "What I mean to say, is that I believe my wand is lost," he finished softly, his gaze dropped to stare at his hands.

"You are correct, Mr Potter," McGonagall replied coolly, "and it's currently still in his possession."

Harry frowned up at her, not following.

"But he's-"

"He's not dead!" snapped Snape impatiently, a livid scowl on his face.

Harry spun around to face Snape, completely forgetting that he was supposed to be ignoring his existence.

"How…" he breathed faintly.

Snape opened is mouth to unquestionably say something like, how Harry was too stupid to realise that _of course_ Malfoy wasn't dead and _naturally _Malfoy had been able to rise from the dead, or some other rot. But before he could, McGonagall forestalled him by whispering urgently that Snape was changing and should not waste time.

It was true, Snape's hair that was now short and soft looked to be transforming rapidly into long oily black strands. His nose started to grow longer, and his eyes went from an icy blue-grey to a dark, smouldering black.

Snape stiffened and looked around, his black eyes flickering across every crevice and space of the Great Hall, before he reached out grabbed Harry's arm roughly and pulled him close, pressing the tiny statue into his hand so that they were both touching it.

The world seemed to lurch up side down, and Harry felt as if a massive hook behind his navel wrenched him off the face of the earth when the Portkey activated, sending him spiralling out to what looked to be nowhere.

McGonagall's piercing voice faltered after them, "See that you return, Severus."


	6. New Old and Grim Place

**I had already written this chapter months ago, just got round to posting it. I kind of forgot lol sorry.**

**Chapter 6. **New Old and Grim place

Harry wrenched his arm loose as soon as his bare feet touched the ground, spun around so fast that he almost crashed drunkenly to the stone pavement like plummeting hail and stalked off, uncaring where he was or where he was going.

He just couldn't find himself to care; anywhere that would assure Snape's presence _out _of his immediate vicinity would do just fine.

He could not believe McGonagall had actually sent him off with _Snape_ on the _ridiculously_ delusional, not to mention _highly_ inconceivable task that consisted of extracting his wand from the afterlife.

He couldn't believe it.

Voldemort had ordered Malfoy dead. And when Voldemort ordered you dead, you _were_ dead.

It was that simple.

He exempted himself of course, but that could hardly be considered the same. _I am _after all _The_ _Chosen One_, he thought snidely.

He very much doubted Malfoy had been blessed with the same 'luck' that would enable him to miraculously escape the wrath of the most fearsome wizard of all time, in some extravagant, dramatic way that would have left anyone dubious for months, wondering if they truly weren't dead after all. Not him though. He had become used to it…

For him, it just about had been a fixed requirement on each school year's curriculum.

He snorted out loud as Snape fell into step beside him, pointedly not looking at Harry, but he noted with satisfaction that his face was darkened with an icy stare focussed on the cobbled pathway stretched before them; surely he could not be too delighted with the arrangement either.

He was on the point of turning around - he had hoped he had stormed off in the direction Snape had not intended to go - when he finally became aware of his surroundings.

They were walking in a cramped alleyway that looked decidedly worse for wear; the stone dour walls loomed and were covered with grime and a sort of eerie, yellowish substance Harry wouldn't mind not ever finding the source of. The cobblestones were a dark brown, which he doubted had been their original colour, and so severely cracked that at first glance it looked to be dried, fractured manure.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the smell that protruded from the alley and found his nose on a gust of wind. Why had Snape brought him here of all places? He refused to believe that in the unlikely event that Malfoy _was_ alive, he would be hiding in a place not even dogs would linger.

He opened his mouth to demand their immediate departure - he didn't care what Snape wanted, _he_ was not going to spend his first conscious afternoon in a week prancing around in nightclothes without slippers that still hadn't imagined themselves around his feet, just so that Snape could preen in what was unquestionably his natural habitat - when he noticed the alley was about to end in an abrupt halt and stopped.

Snape on the other hand wasn't slowing down in the least; in fact he marched right through the filthy, yellow-goo streaked wall. His body seemed to consolidate with it before he vanished from view.

Harry stood gaping at the barrier and only started forward when Snape's impatient "_Magic_, Potter, it's magic!" startled him out of his stupor.

It was very much like stepping through the barrier at platform Nine and Three Quarters. His face burned when he found Snape waiting with a sneer on the other side of the wall, arms crossed and tapping his foot irately.

"One would think," he started contemptuously, "that with six years of attendance to a _magical_ school occupied with _magic_ and _magical _people,and you being a _wizard_, however ignorantly substandard, you would manage not to shriek like a Muggle at every _magical _incident!"

"I did _not_ shriek!" Harry snapped indignantly, but Snape had already turned his back on him dismissively and was walking to a derelict shed that slanted hazardously to one side as if some enormous weight pulled it down. Harry peered around and became aware that they and the shed were standing in what appeared to be a small, ominous courtyard in front of what had to be the back of a shady-looking building, a building that looked strangely familiar…

The courtyard amounted to a small patch of thick, knee-high weeds in which various exotic-looking plants and flowers he vaguely recalled from one of his Herbology textbooks (and was sure Neville would have a fit if he were to see) towered as tall as him. Leaving a small path that in his opinion did not deserve that title (it was mostly a row of mismatched stones variable in sizes some big the majority as small as his fist with large gaps of mud in between) to lead from the wall to the shed.

"What is this place?" Harry demanded waspishly.

Snape, who had reached the little shed, did not answer, but started rummaging and prodding his wand at the many locks, chains and padlocks spread more or less across the entire door.

Harry scowled darkly at Snape's back and muttered under his breath, "_See that you return, Severus," _in a high-pitched singsong voice.

This place certainly didn't look so dangerous. Why in Merlin's name would Snape not return? And why for that matter had McGonagall not included him, he thought petulantly; _he _was after all the one who had basically been _forced_ to go along! No… kidnapped!

Near him, a purplish flower dotted with orange and gold started to open, the stigma clearly visible through hundreds of sharp, tiny teeth hidden within the petals. It snapped for his head and almost caught his ear before he could manage to squeak and awkwardly hop from stone to stone as fast as he could hop, not wanting to get his feet any muddier than was necessary, into the shed Snape had just managed to open.

He almost toppled right down the stairs that immediately started following the threshold, but found his footing just in time to descend the rickety stairs in a very undignified manner.

So it wasn't a shed, he thought grumpily, not waiting on Snape to make some snarky comment about his 'ineptness'. The steps creaked loudly underneath him as he wobbled down, and he grimaced and hurried on as his left foot stepped into something squishy.

He heard the door rattle shut and locks click back into place above him, followed by echoing footsteps and a muttered "Lumos!" that swept a pale glow over the staircase as the light outside was cut off.

He wasn't able to see very far ahead, not even when he squinted his eyes, but he did notice that the stairway looked to become narrower the farther they descended.

They walked in silence. Walls kept on creeping closer and closer as they went lower, and eventually he cast a doubtful glance over his shoulder at Snape who was now close behind him, his sallow face the essence of dissatisfaction as he barked, "Keep moving!" as if Harry had been the one to suggest they'd go wherever they were going!

He kept his mouth shut and gritted his teeth, not wanting to embarrass himself any further than he already had.

Soon they had to turn their bodies sideways to be able to proceed down, and he looked at Snape incredulously as he glowered threateningly back, but kept shuffling forward regardless.

"Turn around, this is ridiculous!" Harry said finally, ignoring Snape's grim expression as the walls pressed down on him from both sides. "These stairs are obviously leading to _no_where! I can't believe I actually _followed_-"

Snape shoved him hard with his shoulder, _pushing _him down the remaining steps of the tapered stairs.

Harry's eyes widened as he saw the walls that connected before him in a solid corner through the flimsy light that shone from Snape's wand, and for a second his stomach tightened and he feared his scalp was going to be split open on the impact that never actually came because he went right through the corner and into a linking wall, hands and arms flailing.

Then he thought he was going to be stuck _inside_ that wall, but he kept on flailing and falling until he fell _through_ the end of the wall, _through _what appeared to be a cabinet that was standing against it and _onto_ a wooden pallet on which an assembly of pointy objects stood which pierced his side as he crashed on to them with a loud groan.

He rolled over slowly just as Snape calmly walked through the cabinet, stepped over him _and_ what he now recognised to be an assortment of canned food and tins, then stooped over him indifferently.

"You… utter… bastard!" Harry growled, between gasps of pain, trying to scramble onto his hands and knees without causing his stomach to twinge too much.

"I had _no_ idea you were so _fragile_, Potter," started Snape, his dark eyes glinting sardonically. He shook his head in forged wonder before he continued, "Particularly after the terrible tribulations you went through with the Dark Lord all these years." He straightened and smoothed his robes with long delicate fingers.

"If I had known…had expected for only a second, I would never have been so careless as to 'brush' your shoulder ever so lightly going down a flight of stairs.

"My heart weeps, I'm terribly sorry," he said tonelessly. "Will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?" he finished as insincerely as possible, rolling his eyes, lips curling in utmost disgust and, without waiting for an answer, swept out of the small pantry, leaving Harry spluttering and seething with rage on the pallet.

Who did the man think he was, pushing people down stairs! He could have been killed, fallen and broken his neck!

For some odd reason he did not precisely understand, he found that thought unequivocally worse than getting his head sliced off by Voldemort.

He also found himself desperately wishing to find Malfoy here, wherever here was, so that he could have his wand and hex Snape into oblivion!

He got up onto his feet and tried to storm after Snape intimidatingly, but the effect was ruined by his right leg, which limped pathetically and gave him the look of a deranged giraffe. A deranged giraffe missing a leg, he amended sullenly.

But he really did not care; he could not allow Snape to treat him like this. It was conclusive that Snape would never stop out of his own accord, if Harry did not put an end to it now, did not show the man that he was not going to put up with his sadistic behaviour, he would find himself dragged into another dispute very soon.

He limped out of the pantry for which he barely spared a glance, his face set into a scowl he wished he had practiced beforehand in a mirror, slammed the door open that had drifted shut after Snape's departure and almost fell flat on his face as he took in the familiar rough-hewn walls, the dresser, the large stone fireplace, the table framed by many chairs and the heavy set of iron pots and pans that hung from the dark ceiling above.

But there was something decidedly different about the kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld Place. There were house-elves, a lot of them, bustling in or out, sweeping the floor, cleaning the table, straightening this or that, carrying arm loads of bundles and preparing meals.

Harry goggled with his mouth hanging open, the initial shock of having been brought into Sirius's home through some shady back entrance he hadn't been aware of replaced itself with the occurring commotion that was playing itself out in front of him, that soon transformed itself into outrage at the intrusion of the house that was now _his_ which switched back into the wrath he had been about to unleash on Snape before he had hobbled into the kitchen, but now for entire different reasons.

He had never wanted to see the inside of this house again. This house that had oppressed his godfather, this house that had driven him away. He blamed this house as much for Sirius his death as he did himself. He realised it was irrational, knew it was outright ridiculous, but that did not change how he felt.

The house-elves had now all stopped and turned to look at him, wide-eyed. One skimpy-looking elf yelped nervously and vanished with a soft _pop,_ which subsequently led to a succession of pops, and before he could form the words to demand an explanation he was left standing in the kitchen alone.

He pushed his jaws together loudly and was about to stomp across the kitchen to the stairs that would bring him to the entrance hall when he changed his mind.

He was not going to _run_ after Snape like some pet! He would stay right here until Snape would come to _him_, and when Snape did, he would ignore him. Yes, Harry would give Snape a taste of his own medicine; see how he would like it.

Instead of the stairs, he started for the table and sat down on one of the many chairs situated around it. He peered around silently. The kitchen was absolutely spotless. It was true that he, Hermione and the Weasleys had attempted to clean up the whole house two years ago, and he had to admit that it had looked a lot better when they had finished.

But this was something else; every object and every surface gleamed and twinkled in the light of the hearth that was burning contentedly. The wooden floor was polished and shone like a beacon, the cupboards and drawers looked as if new, and the table was an appealing, stainless dark oak.

His stomach grumbled loudly as his eyes caught sight of a plate that held a casserole of meat and vegetables topped with sliced potatoes, and he realised that he was absolutely famished, which of course was to be expected after not eating solids for a week and not having eaten anything all day.

In no time he retrieved utensils from the dresser in the corner and dug in wholeheartedly, licking his fingers and lips and not intending to leave a single crumb on his plate when he was finished.

He was savouring the taste of the delicate food in his mouth when he heard angry footsteps coming down the stairs. He didn't look up; instead he smoothed his face off all expression and kept on eating as if he hadn't a care in the world, just someone sitting in his own house enjoying his food.

The footsteps stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Refusing to acknowledge Snape in any way, he pushed a carrot in his mouth and made a show of gnawing away blissfully.

But there was only silence.

He skewered a bit of potato onto his fork next and shovelled it in and chewed slowly. He listened to the fire sputter and crackle as the flames danced amongst the logs and rapped his foot against the base of the leg of his chair in a steady 'tap…tap'.

This food was really good, he thought absent-mindedly, he had eaten something like this before of course, but something about the taste was different, although he couldn't put his finger on it.

The fire kept on crackling, and he tapping his foot and eating. He was almost halfway through when the footsteps tentatively came closer.

Slim fingers attached to a fair and soft-looking hand crossed his line of vision and placed a wand in front of his plate. He froze in the motion of cutting a piece of casserole and stared at his wand lying before him. He had not missed his wand. Not up until now. He could not explain it, but seeing his wand lying there so close before him, it was as if someone had returned one of his organs he had not been aware he was missing, but now that he had it back he felt a bit more complete, a bit more whole.

He dropped his knife and fork with a clatter and snatched his wand from the tabletop. As he slid his fingers over the smooth and supple surface of eleven inches of holly, he promised himself that he would never let it out of his sight _ever_ again.

After everything that had occurred since their arrival in London, Harry could not muster any surprise when he turned in his chair and looked into cool slate-coloured eyes.

"You're welcome, _Potter_, no need to thank me for returning your wand," came the lazy drawl of Draco Malfoy as he leaned idly against the side of the table.

A week's time had done Malfoy good. He looked as immaculate as ever, his perfect robes pressed perfectly, his perfect boots shone perfectly and his perfect blond hair fell around his face in perfect tresses. Only a faint trace of a shadow underneath his eyes, and his cheeks that were still slightly hollow, showed any sign that Malfoy had not lived his best week.

It made Harry very self-conscious about the fact that he was smudged with dirt and _still _wearing his pyjamas.

"I wasn't planning on it," he snapped at Malfoy.

"No need to be so tetchy, a little gratitude would not be misplaced."

"Maybe if you hadn't tried to trade my life for your Death Eater father," Harry spat, "I would not have lost it in the first place!"

Malfoy had the audacity to roll his eyes and sneer, "You're still alive, aren't you?"

"Not thanks to you," he bit out.

Malfoy shrugged and smirked, "That's not the point is it?"

He walked around the table to take a seat at the other end far away from Harry.

"The point is that you _are_ still alive, and the fact that you _are_ still alive means that _I _haven't killed you," he stated, pausing to study his nails. "And because Ihaven't killed you, _you_ have no reason whatsoever to be upset. I've returned your wand, you should be grateful," he finished matter-of-factly.

"Grateful? You _stole_ it from me!"

"BorrowedPotter, I _borrowed_ it from you," he corrected pleasantly with a scornful smile fixed on his face. "I had lost mine at the time, and was in desperate need for another. Besides, if I had stolen it from you I wouldn't have given it back now, would I?"

Harry did not answer, instead he tried to count to ten in his head but only got to four before he started smashing his potatoes and vegetables with his fork viciously.

"You're eating my Lancashire Hotpot, why?"

"You're in my house, why?" Harry retorted coldly.

"This is your house?" asked Malfoy incredulously.

"Yes," he answered irately. "And I want you _and_ your ridiculous house-elves to get out! I know they're yours; only _you_ would bring a dozen house elves to cater to your _pathetic_ little needs when everybody else has far more significant things to worry about!" he shouted, losing his temper anyway.

He could not believe Malfoy had asked him to be grateful, _grateful_! That pompous git had nearly got himself _and_ Harry killed by Voldemort, and acted like he had done nothing, _nothing_ whatsoever wrong! Coming into Sirius's home acting like he owned the place with his army of elves!

"You've lost your purpose; you've given me back my wand. I don't give a damn if you have no place to go, you can curl up and die for all I care. As long as you do it some place far away from me!"

He was breathing heavily and he became aware that he was now on his feet and pointing his wand directly at Malfoy. That wall that guarded his emotions seemed to throb in tune with his heartbeat, and he felt the trickle of dark magic the Releaser had left in him blaze furiously.

Malfoy's face had gone deathly pale as he stared at Harry in shock and scrambled as far away from him as possible. Harry was reminded of the way Hermione and Ron had looked at him, but he couldn't bring himself to care if Malfoy saw him like they had, it didn't concern him the least if he frightened Malfoy with his appearance.

He showed his teeth in an unfriendly grin and opened his eyes wide, hoping they were still black and very disturbing.

He remembered what had happened when he had shown Malfoy a little compassion, a little understanding. He would not make the same mistake again.

He hated Malfoy and everything he had done in his short life. He wanted him to be gone.

"Get. Out!" he hissed dangerously, lashing out with his wand. It wasn't even a spell, just some sparks and bangs, but it was enough to send Malfoy fleeing up the stairs.

"And take Snape with you while you're at it!" he called after him.

Slowly walking back to his chair he dropped himself on to it in an attempt to calm down.

He shoved his plate away roughly. His appetite had left.

Staring into wavering flames with both hands in his hair and elbows on the table, he wished Ron and Hermione were here with him. They would have helped him. Hermione would have known what to do; she always knew what to do.

He sighed loudly into the deserted kitchen; he knew he couldn't ask them to come even if he wanted them to. He was not going to get them killed merely for his own benefit. He already had got enough people killed at the wedding.

Just like he had got Ginny killed…

He felt that stoic wall deep inside him shift, but he steeled himself and the feeling was gone before he could figure out what it was.

He held no illusions as to who was to blame. Those Death Eaters hadn't come to kill the Weasleys. They had come because _he_ had been there. The people they had managed to murder on the path towards him had all just been a good laugh to them.

Scrimgeour. He needed to have a good chat with the minister. The protection shield that had been cast over The Burrow could not have been breached without the Ministry knowing. What had gone wrong? However much he disliked Scrimgeour and his politics, he could not believe the minister had been in league with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but someone inside the Ministry obviously was and he intended to find out exactly who.

He was going to go to the Ministry and then he was going to go to Godric's Hollow.

He looked down at himself and grimaced; he couldn't go to the Ministry of Magic looking like he had just tumbled out of bed and expect to be taken seriously.

He looked around the kitchen, but other than his half-eaten plate of food and kitchen appliances nothing could be found that would be of any help to him.

Then something clicked in his head and he shouted, "Kreacher!"

A dingy-looking door opened across from the pantry and an ancient looking elf whose skin appeared to be several sizes too large slinked out of the cupboard with his shoulders hunched. The rag he had tied around his middle left his chest bare; it looked even filthier than when Harry had last seen him.

"…filthy half-blood, but Kreacher has to obey, poor mistress, if she could see Kreacher now, oh the shame…" the elf muttered under its breath in a deep, scratchy voice.

Harry gave the elf a disgusted look, he did not have time for Kreacher's gibberish, and he did not wish to spend any more time than was necessary in its company. "Shut up, I can hear you Kreacher," he snapped. Why hadn't he been in Hogwarts like Harry had told him to? He would ask him later.

Kreacher froze, stopped his muttering and bowed ridiculously low so that his snout-like nose touched the floor.

"Master called Kreacher?" he said before adding in undertones "…oh how he had hoped Master would never return, Kreacher would have been oh so pleased if Master had died like that blood traitor, Kreacher could go live with his real family and-"

"I said shut up!" roared Harry; he had gone cold as ice when Kreacher started about Sirius. His wand twitched and he would have liked nothing better than to hex Kreacher into next week.

"Don't talk, don't even _think_!" he ordered the elf angrily. "I want you to go upstairs and get me some of Malfoy's clothes and robes."

Kreacher looked as if he were about to have a seizure, his wrinkled face widened and his eyes wanted to pop out of his head, his mouth opened and closed but miraculously nothing came out. When he realised he could not utter a single word, and not even his thoughts would come out, he directed the most venomous look he could achieve at Harry and scowled.

"Oh, and some socks and shoes and underwear. I need a cloak as well," added Harry with satisfaction. "Malfoy must have brought plenty, he won't even miss them. Besides, I'm just _borrowing _them," he added bitterly. "Clean ones, no dirty Malfoy underwear mind you, Kreacher, ones without holes and tears, and if I find even _one_ maggot or slug inside my pants, shirt or any other thing you're to bring me, I will order you to boil your own head," he added amiably.

Kreacher bowed one last time and gave Harry one last nasty look; to which Harry only smiled, before he vanished with a popping noise.

Harry went to the sink, found a piece of cloth in one of the cupboards and a bar of soap and started washing his face. He took off his shirt and trousers and started scrubbing gently; wincing every so often when he pressed his bruises too firmly, and was soon clean. Well, as clean as he could be without taking a shower.

He didn't want to go upstairs and risk running into Snape. Snape would not let him leave. They could figure out what exactly the pendant had done to him when _he _had time for it. He was not going to be bossed around anyone any longer. Everyone else always pretended they knew better, knew what was best for him and ordered him about. He was tired of it, very tired.

As soon as the elf had returned with a bundle of clothes that he seemed to want to throw in his face, Harry told Kreacher to go back to his filthy niche in the cupboard and stay there until he told him to come out.

Harry inspected the bundle and glowered at the clothes within. Kreacher had done exactly as he had asked; the clothes were striking and looked more expensive then his entire wardrobe put together, but what annoyed him was the theme of silver and green that dominated the fabrics. He hadn't thought of colours, he should have.

He was certain Kreacher had chosen Slytherin colours just to spite him.

There was nothing for it now; he didn't want to waste anymore time by ordering Kreacher to get different clothes. At least the velvet cloak looked thin and comfortable, he thought irritably; it was a dark, soft, sparkling grey that looked almost black when the light caught it from different angles.

Once he had finished dressing he had to admit that the silk boxers felt quite nice, and the black trousers that weren't too bad either, covered the lurid green.

The satin silver shirt that bore green embroidered dragons around the cuffs and neck he didn't like so much; it was too shimmery and extravagant for his liking, and exactly the sort of thing he imagined Malfoy to wear in his free time.

Luckily, the black robes (that unluckily had a big silver dragon slashed across the back, which was luckily hidden by the velvet grey cloak) hid most of it.

The black dragon-hide boots that had lots of silver buckles and ended just below the knee were a bit cramped around his toes, but he didn't complain since the alternative would be far less comfortable.

He didn't wear the green leather belt that had a huge buckle shaped in the form of unsurprisingly yet _another_ dragon, because he didn't need to and was thankful for it.

Everything fit, for which he was also thankful.

He wet his hands with water and raked his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it, which turned out to be not such a grand idea as it instantly became clear that his hair instead of lying flat now _all_ stood up, instead of just partly up. He really did not know why he continued to bother.

He was glad there was no mirror present. He bet he looked like a real ponce; if Fred and George ever were to see him like this they would never let him live it down.

Pleased that he was finally wearing clothes, even if they were Malfoy's - his pleasure growing when it occurred to him that Malfoy would be mortified if he knew what Harry was wearing - he took his wand from the counter where he had placed it before washing his face and intended to Apparate near the visitors Entrance of the Ministry when Snape thundered down the stairs with great menacing strides.

"What have you done?" Snape demanded at once.

"You mean _after_ you manhandled me and nearly broke my ribs?" he asked coolly, Snape had not even the decency to look even a little ashamed, instead his face darkened. "I had a late brunch," he answered; he was not going to let Snape get to him.

"What did you do to him?" hissed Snape as he stalked closer and stopped a few paces away.

"To who?" asked Harry innocently, as if there could be any question to who Snape meant.

Snape glared at him. "You know very well who!" he shouted. "Draco. What did you say to him? I told him to return your wand and shortly after he came running up as if he had seen a ghost. I didn't think anything of it, the boy has just lost his mother, but he has barricaded himself up in his room and refuses to come out!" he finished angrily shooting Harry accusing stares.

Harry shrugged. "I told him to get out of my house, but it appears he couldn't even get that right."

He would have thought Snape would hit him or something after that admission, you never knew with Snape; he had after all pushed him off the stairs, so he was quite taken aback when Snape merely closed his eyes, pinched his nose and exhaled despairingly.

"Potter," he started slowly. "You do realise Draco has no where else to go?" he asked calmly.

"How is that my problem?" inquired Harry coldly. "He tried to kill me. Sorry if I'm not jumping through hoops to help my would-be murderer."

Snape only nodded.

"Do you also realise," he said levelly, "that if the Dark Lord becomes aware of the fact that Malfoy isn't truly dead, he would know that it had been _my_ doing? It would only take a little prodding after that for him to conclude that it also had been _me _who snatched The Boy Who Lived from his grasp," he informed him, staring intently with dark searching eyes.

"I don't see how anything of that-" Harry began.

"Bellatrix," Snape interrupted a lot less patient, "would leap on the slightest suggestion that _I _had been involved in either case, and I don't suppose I ought to expect Voldemort to be as sympathetic as… let's say Albus Dumbledore," he finished acerbically.

His eyes then spotted the trousers and shirt on the floor and narrowed as his gaze returned to Harry and looked him up and down.

"For that matter, I already have more explaining to do than I had wished without concerning myself with things I needn't worry about if could be avoided."

Harry scowled. The Order needed Snape. _He_ needed Snape; his inside information could be just what he needed to find the Horcruxes. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Can't he stay some place else?" he asked Snape sullenly.

"This place is protected by a Secret Keeper. The Fidelius Charm transported over to me with Albus his death. Anyone who already knows the secret will of course still be able to find it, but I have locked the house down; no one will be able to enter except us. It's the safest place."

"For both of you," he added after a while.

"I'm not staying! I need to do what Dumbledore asked me to do. I can't-"

"Yes I know, _hero_ business," sneered Snape. "Top-secret I'm sure. I don't wish to know if you're not going to enlighten me. Albus told me it was your secret to tell." He sighed again, more wearily this time, rubbing a hand over his face dejectedly.

"I'm here to aid you Potter, whether you and your obdurate-self realise this or not. I am trying to have a decent conversation with you as an _equal_," he said disgustedly, his mouth curling around the last word.

"Salazar knows I'm trying," he muttered before clearing his throat and continuing, "Minerva has… _suggested_ that I…should be _civil_… if we are to work together to 'save the world'," Snape snipped. "However much I loathe to admit that she's right, the simple crux of the matter is that she _is_. Today cleared me of any delusions I had of ignoring her advice," he added with a frown.

Harry gawked at Snape as if he had grown an extra head. "You can't possibly be serious," he asked, horror-struck.

Snape sneered at him. "Oh I certainly am, _Harry_," he purred, his eyes glinting with mordant amusement.

Harry tried to back away from Snape, who obviously had gone mad, but his legs didn't cooperate with him as he stood, horrified.

"Don't be such a _child_, Potter. I don't like you, I won't ever like you," announced Snape coolly. "But I will try to be civil, if you will try not to be such an immature, thick-headed, troublesome, mule-headed …" he cleared his throat again when he noticed Harry's glare.

"Here." He held up a small potions vial that held a thick brown liquid.

Harry twisted his mouth at the vial and said disgustedly, "First you befriend them and then you hand them poison? You need to think of another plan of action, this is far too conspicuous."

Snape glared murder at him and pressed his thin lips into a white line as his hooked nose flared angrily, but did not retract his hand.

"This," began Snape in a tight strained voice, "is for your bruises, it will also make you feel more energised. I recalled I had left an assortment of potion ingredients on one of my last visits here, and prepared this for you. I did not mean for you to fall on a pallet with sharp objects," he concluded sourly as if conceding the fact brought a foul taste to his mouth.

Harry stared at Snape in disbelieve. This was Snape's way of apologising?

"So you admit you _did_ mean for me to fall," he accused.

Snape did not answer, but just leered at him in a very scathing way. .

Snape had made this for him as a peace offering. This was probably the first sincere apology he had attempted in his life. Harry wished he had a camera so he could capture the moment; he was sure Snape would deny it had ever happened if he relayed this to Ron and Hermione without hard evidence. Or _they_ might just not believe him if he told them without having proof.

Cautiously, he took the vial from Snape and unstopped it with his thumbs; he sniffed it warily, but was pleasantly surprised when the emitted scent did not sear his nose off.

"I added some mint to take the bite off," Snape snapped impatiently.

Harry nodded appreciatively and drank the mixture down in one gulp.

"Thanks," he said earnestly as he felt the potion work; he felt rejuvenated and his bruises and aches seemed to have melted out of him instantly. Snape gave him a disgusted look

Clearly, it had cost Snape dearly to do something nice for a change.

Snape promptly glowered and turned his back on him stiffly, but not before Harry saw the sickened expression on his face. He looked as if he wanted to swallow his tongue.

"This had better work Minerva," Harry heard Snape mutter under his breath.

The next half hour had evolved into a heated discussion between him, Malfoy and Snape.

Snape had managed to lure Malfoy out of his room by saying Harry had gone away. Malfoy had curtly thrown his door open and proclaimed loudly, "That boy is mad! Did you see his eyes Severus? I always knew there was something wrong with that shifty Gryffindor. He nearly killed me in the kitchen; I thought he was going to stab me with his wand. He and his creepy little friends should be locked-"

Suddenly his face had gone as white as snow and he had tried to slam the door back closed when he spotted Harry behind Snape, but Snape had already put his foot in between and quickly marched him and Harry into the drawing room, after confiscating both of their wands, to violent protestations, claiming it was a matter of precaution.

The drawing room was located on the same floor as the room Malfoy had taken for himself. Malfoy had chosen a seat across the room as far away from Harry as humanly possible, muttering something along the lines of not wanting to sit near an unhinged lunatic. Which meant their initial conversation began as a shouting match from the start.

"What do you mean I _have_ to go with Potter?" Malfoy had cried in panic at the same time Harry had shouted incredulously, "I'm _not_ taking Malfoy with me!"

Snape pinched his nose and a vein near his temple seemed to pulsate alarmingly. "It would make sense-" he began but was cut off by Harry's piercing voice.

"Sense? Nothing about Malfoy makes any sense whatsoever and I refuse to take that slimy, foul, almost-murdering git with me!"

"Potter is deranged," Malfoy piped in, "he is a very dangerous man, can't you see the way he looks at me, as soon as my back is turned he will have that filthy house-elf of his assassinate me, did you know that it stole my clothes and-"

His eyes widened as he noticed the clothes Harry was wearing. Harry leered at him maliciously and Malfoy snarled and launched himself at him in a fit of rage, but because he had to come from far, Snape easily blocked his way, which Harry found decidedly disappointing.

"I can't and will _not_ thrust _Malfoy_!" continued Harry angrily while glaring at Malfoy and Snape. "He will try to hand me back over to Voldemort for all I know. I don't care what you say Snape, I'm not taking him anywhere."

Malfoy's face had gone whiter and whiter and Harry's face had gone redder and redder while Snape's face went darker and darker as they continued to shout at each other.

To be fair, it had mostly been Harry and Malfoy who had done the shouting, Snape had continuously tried to edge a word in until he finally had heard enough and roared, "Silence!" which did nothing, so he swiftly silenced them both with his wand.

"I will explain this only once, so listen closely," he growled, sharing his glare between the two of them.

"Draco you can't stay in this house all day, brooding and wallowing in your grief. You need something to occupy yourself with. I know you miss your mother." He paused then when Malfoy stiffened at the mention of his mother.

"The manor elves have cleaned this house quite sufficiently, but you _will _eventually feel enclosed." Snape continued with a voice that Harry could only describe as kind in comparison with Snape's usual icy tone.

Harry stood stock-still and stared at Snape's back with silent fury.

Enclosed. Just like Sirius had felt enclosed.

Malfoy should be thankful Harry was not going to _kill_ him for what he had done. _He_ is the one who should be _grateful_ Harry was not going to kick him out of the house and into the gutter where, he thought, Malfoy belonged quite well.

"I've taught you some Concealment Charms; you will be able to find a valuable use for them now," he heard Snape say.

Malfoy was shaking his head wildly and tried to communicate with Snape by making gestures with his hands.

Snape ignored him and rounded on Harry next. "And you, Potter, however much you wish to go out on your mission alone, it is not safe, not even for the _Chosen One_!" he said nastily, Malfoy smirked at that and stopped trying to catch Snape's eye..

"The Dark Lord is investing all his _precious _time in looking for you ever since your miraculous escape, he is furious to put it lightly. Death Eaters are constantly searching. I have not risked my life to save you so that _you _could throw it away with your inevitable ignorance," he continued, which wiped the smirk right off Malfoy's face, "If something were to happen to you, no one would know. I will not break my promise to Albus," finished Snape fiercely.

Harry scowled at him and shook his head furiously.

"I see both of you are too dim-witted to listen to sense!" Snape said finally when it became clear neither of them was going to budge.

Malfoy shot Snape a very betrayed look and crossed his arms in a show of defiance, while Harry glared daggers at Snape and tried to look around for something to throw at him.

Snape did not seem to notice. He had paced a few steps away as if deep in thought. Nodded to himself with obvious satisfaction as he looked back at both of them and said, "You give me no other choice."

He raised his wand and started some weird chant Harry had never heard before. Malfoy obviously recognised some of it because his face looked at Snape pleadingly as he dropped to his knees with a horrified expression and shook his head. Harry could clearly read the words 'no' and 'please' on his lips.

Harry didn't know what Snape was doing, but whatever it was that made Malfoy behave like a starved beggar should be something marvellous in the making, so he just sat back and enjoyed the view of Malfoy on his knees whimpering silently.

He really shouldbuy that camera soon.

Two identical metal loops seemed to appear out of thin air, both as big as the outline of a tea mug and shimmered in front of Snape, who was still chanting in that unfamiliar low deep-throated hymn.

Malfoy had stopped his pitiful begging and looked resigned.

Harry just looked confused.

With a sharp flick of Snape's wand the rings drifted apart, one floated before Harry's nose and he frowned at it with a raised eyebrow. Without warning it soared down and snapped close around his wrist snugly.

Harry jumped up and shouted a soundless "Hey!"

He looked at Snape who was looking at Malfoy, who in turn was looking at his own pale wrist around which the other bracelet had closed, with a miserable drooping face worthy of a bullfrog

"This will allow you to stray from each other up to thirty-two feet but no further, unless you wish to experience excruciating pain. It is up to you," Snape informed them coolly.

"Even though I'd much rather spend the rest of the day observing and being entertained by this new startling development, with my utmost regret I must inform you both that I have to attend a meeting with the Dark Lord. We will meet again tonight."

Snape smirked at them both, his black eyes gleamed before he bowed mockingly and Apparated away.

Harry stared at his wrist aghast as the meaning of Snape's words seeped into his brains, turned his gaze over to Malfoy who had dropped down onto the floor entirely and gazed at the matching bracelet that decorated Malfoy's arm.

He let out a dismayed "No!" as he stared from his wrist to Malfoy's wrist and back, and was startled when his voice echoed despairingly through the Drawing room of number twelve Grimmauld Place.


	7. Ministry Mayhem

**Chapter 7: **Ministry Mayhem

"Why didn't you stop him!" he shouted at Malfoy.

Malfoy, who was lying slumped on the dark wood of the floor, eyes closed, arms and legs stiff at his sides. His blond hair had fallen into his face, which was contorted into an agonizing expression as if he were being tortured, and his black robes, which had fallen open, framed his body like a coffin.

"Someone, anyone…_please_…kill me," he was muttering under his breath morosely, pretending for all the world Harry was a part of the furniture.

He definitely looked like death, Harry noted. Malfoy's skin looked even more sallow than it normally did against the black of his robes; as a result, the dark circles that looped underneath his eyes like a coil looked more prominent than ever.

"I'm talking to you, Malfoy, answer me!" he snapped angrily.

Why he had fallen for Snape's now obviously false apology and request to be civil, he could not begin to comprehend. Clearly, every word Snape had uttered had been false. And the worst part was that Harry had been willing to give it a shot.

He'd really believed Snape had meant what he'd said. To be fair, the potion his ex-Professor made for him _had _actually worked. It must all have been a ruse to lure Harry into this horrendous predicament. He would bet his entire Gringotts vault that Snape was probably having a good laugh at Harry's expense right this moment.

He grimaced and wondered whether the potion that had got rid of his aches and bruises might have some unpleasant side effects he didn't know about…yet. He shook that unhelpful thought from his mind with a shiver and continued to glower down at Malfoy threateningly.

Malfoy, however, did not move. He didn't look to be breathing either.

Harry hoped someone had answered his death wish.

"Malfoy!" he tried again impatiently.

Nothing.

He huffed in frustration as he paced a few steps away and lifted his arm to rake his hands through his hair when something fell out of the sleeve of his robes and dropped to the floor.

It was his wand. He had no clue how it had got there, but he was not about to start questioning his luck. He dived for it and almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to snatch it from the floor.

The next fifteen minutes he wasted trying every spell he had ever learnt on the bracelet trapped around his wrist.

The triumph and confidence he'd felt while he had stood deliberating which spell he would try first and would be most successful in removing the bracelet swiftly evaporated in a puff of smoke drifting to the horizon when it promptly became clear that all of his efforts did not even seem to bring a dent in the sparkling silver of metal.

He had tried everything short of blasting or cursing his own hand off, though he had been tempted once or twice when his gaze had drifted over to Malfoy, who had just lain there on the drawing room floor theatrically like a fallen angel of death, and considered exactly what it would mean to be stuck with him.

He looked dejectedly at his wrist as he muttered one of the first spells he'd ever learnt without expecting to succeed. But even though Wingardium Leviosa had once rescued him from a twelve feet tall Mountain Troll, all it was good for now was a soft sizzle and pop that brought the mingled smell of sour cheese and feet and notified him that yet another attempt had flunked.

"Once again you astound me with your brilliant lack of brains; how you ever passed six years at Hogwarts, I'm sure many would like to know. Really, a Levitation Charm, Potter? You disgust me."

Harry spun round to find Malfoy propped up on his elbows, watching his every move with a mask of scorn chiselled in place.

"If _you're_ so brilliant, Malfoy, why don't you take these off then?" he snapped back, waving his left arm, which held the bracelet, up and down. As soon as the words had left his mouth, though, he wished he hadn't spoken. They eerily reminded him of one particular Charms class years ago, where he'd first learnt that same Levitation Charm, and the argument that had followed between Ron and Hermione.

Malfoy shook his head, his lips curling into a sneer before opening his mouth. Not waiting for a response or to find that Malfoy indeed knew a way to rid them of these bracelets (he'd never hear the end of it if Malfoy actually succeeded), he did the one thing he hadn't tried yet.

He turned on his heel and Apparated.

Harry caught a last glimpse of Malfoy's horrified face before Grimmauld place vanished before his eyes. Elation swelled up in him like a big hot air balloon, but his joy didn't last long when a searing pain punctured his conviction of success with a needle sharper than the claws of a hippogriff. His scalp felt as if it was on fire, and he dropped to his knees clutching his head, the ground agonizingly solid underneath him. At first he hoped he'd only Splinched an ear in his impatience to get away from Malfoy, but as the pain, which felt like a jolt of electricity trying to penetrate his nervous system, started travelling from his head through his whole body with an unbearable slowness, he realised what he felt must be a thousand times worse than having your whole _head _Splinched off clean and let out a howl of pain.

He was lying sprawled on his side groaning loudly, his limbs twitching alarmingly and his head feeling like it had exploded and then been glued back together with glue that wasn't particularly sticky. It felt like ages until he was able to open his eyes again. It didn't do him much good when he did because his glasses had fallen off. The world he was able to see was a canvas of fuzz and blur.

As he rolled onto his back, he felt something shatter underneath him. How many times he'd been forced to mend his glasses he wasn't sure. He wondered absently how often a thing had to have been broken for it to be irreparable even by magic.

"You - Idiot!" snarled the voice he had been dreading to hear in between gasps of what could only be defined as horrible agony. Even though something had obviously gone very wrong, he'd still hoped he had managed to Apparate somewhere away from Draco Malfoy.

Harry twisted his neck to the location the voice had come from. A big, saggy lump of black robes and pale-white features was heaving and breathing heavily.

He must be lying on the exact same spot where he had stood trying to Apparate, and Malfoy, (the big, heaving lump) only a few feet away, was still down on the floor but now frantically clutching his torso. All Harry could see of his face was an indiscernible blotch of an unhealthy, sickly-grey shade that was moaning pitifully.

"I didn't think-" Harry began weakly, desperately raking his brain for some kind of explanation that would not make him sound like a complete halfwit, but was cut off.

"That much was obvious, Potter," Malfoy spat. "Didn't you hear what Severus said? Thirty-two feet? Excruciating pain? Ring a bell? No? Of course not…" he mocked disgustedly. "If you had let me speak before trying to do us both in, I would have told you that only the caster of the spell can remove Restrictive Rings!"

Harry didn't answer; instead, he groaned miserably. Not because he was in pain, but because what he'd expected all along but not wanted to admit had just been confirmed: these bracelets were not coming off any time soon.

He suddenly wished he was still back in the Hospital Wing in an induced coma.

He compelled himself to stand while he focused on ignoring Malfoy's angry mutterings. The pain had left as suddenly as it had come. In the process of dragging his body up, he discovered his wand not far away and fixed his crushed glasses with a softly whispered spell. His vision focused, and things lurched back in place as soon as his glasses were set safely on the bridge of his nose.

He just stood for a while, staring downheartedly at nothing in particular. There was nothing for it. He'd just have to bring him along for the day. Just one day, he reminded himself, trying to make that thought as cheerful as possible. But he couldn't fool himself; one day in the presence of Draco Malfoy was one too many.

The only thing that did manage to brighten his spirits somewhat after he had accepted the inevitable was the thought of all the nasty curses he would make Snape suffer when he'd see him again.

"Restrictive Rings?" he said after a moment, slicing right through Malfoy's litany of insults, which was still going on strong.

"-what? Oh...yes, Restrictive Rings," Malfoy responded loftily. "Dark Magic. Use of these rings has been banned by the Ministry because of the coercion involved," he snorted, getting up on his feet. "Not as bad as something like the Imperius, of course, but that's a matter of opinion. If you ask me, in the end, it all depends on whom the victim gets stuck with," he eyed Harry pointedly. "Complicated piece of magic, really," he continued, sounding to Harry's distaste almost impressed with Snape's handy work. "especially the infused bit of Transfiguration and Charms work. Combining the two together with a bit of-"

He stopped abruptly, absolute shock dominating his features. Harry thought it must have hit Malfoy that he was having an actual conversation with him without the usual inserted belittlements and was utterly repulsed by himself.

Traces of horrified surprise gave way to a fearsome scowl he directed at Harry as if he blamed him for his mishap. Malfoy narrowed his eyes into suspicious slits and demanded, "What are you playing at, Potter?"

Harry sighed wearily, repressing the urge to roll his eyes. "Nothing. I need to go to the Ministry of Magic to see the Minister, and because of these Restrictive Rings I'm taking you with me." He grimaced. "After that we'll visit Godric's Hollow, where I-"

He stopped.

He realised he had to be very careful how he went about saying things around Malfoy. Just because he was forced to take him along did not change the fact that he trusted Malfoy as much as he'd trust a giant Blast-Ended Skrewt within a two feet radius.

"-I have to do some…stuff," he finished vaguely.

Malfoy's eyes, after narrowing even further, resembled two vertical lines with lashes. "Some…_stuff?" _he repeated sceptically.

"Yes."

Malfoy opened his mouth furiously, doubtlessly to demand a proper explanation, but Harry beat him to it and hastily asked, "So…your Concealment Charms, are they any good?"

Malfoy glared darkly at him, seemingly in conflict with himself, as his expression kept shifting between a scowl and a frown. But his urge to prove himself and gloat in the knowledge he knew something Harry did not clearly won the battle over his apprehension because he snapped, "Of course they are. It's not all that complicated." He rustled with his robes for a bit, looking for something. "But then, you probably couldn't do it," he added, looking up at Harry, smirking.

Harry wanted nothing more than to hex that smirk right off his face.

Malfoy continued to fumble with his pockets and searched the insides of his robes before eventually extracting a dark-coloured wand from one of his arm sleeves. Obviously pleased to hold it again, Malfoy gave it a flourish; a looping spiral of cold fire rushed out of its end. The fire dissolved slowly and left an ashy scent coating the air.

"How did you know you had it on you?" Harry asked perplexed.

"Severus's work, of course," Malfoy said, giving Harry a look as if he hadn't seen someone so witless, which Harry didn't really find fair because Malfoy had spent most of his time in the company of Crabe and Goyle.

To him, it wasn't all that self-evident how their wands could have reappeared inside their sleeves after having been confiscated, but he didn't question it further and, instead, looked on as Malfoy made an intricate wand movement ending with a sharp flick that he aimed straight between his brows.

The change was instantaneous. His hair, a second ago white-blond, was now a rich dark brown. His eyes, usually silvery-grey, now looked to be brown as well, and his nose was a little less pointed.

Admiring his reflection in a particularly shiny plate that hung on the wall near him, Malfoy nodded and turned to Harry with a superior air that was unmistakably Malfoyish and wasn't at all diminished by his changed appearance.

Harry honestly tried not to, but he was so used to seeing the Slytherin with stark-blond hair and a pointy nose permanently held up in the air, that seeing Malfoy with anything but that looked entirely ridiculous and burst out laughing. His shoulders were shaking in his mirth, and the dark look that overcame Malfoy's face when he saw Harry's reaction only added to his amusement.

"What's so funny?" Malfoy bit out, his hand clenching around his wand.

"N-nothing," gasped Harry, between bubbles of laughter. "It's just…different. Actually, I think it's quite an improvement. But then again, anything would have been, so that doesn't say much," he continued with tears in his eyes. "No really," he added insincerely when a rosy colour began to tint Malfoy's cheeks. Harry wasn't sure it was embarrassment or anger. Probably both. "You could surely pass as one of Hermione's Muggle relatives."

To that, Malfoy's eyes widened. Stunned into momentary silence and revulsion, he stared at Harry, his knuckles white from gripping his wand so tightly. Suddenly his mouth twisted into a fierce snarl, and he started forward furiously as if Harry, instead of telling him he could pass for a Muggle, had told him he could pass for a Flobberworm. "I look _nothing_ like your Mudblood friend, Potter," he spat, pointing his wand at Harry threateningly.

But Harry was too busy looking at Malfoy in befuddlement to react to the insult or to the wand pointed at his face. Malfoy's hair was flickering between brown and blond like a flashlight; his nose was a blur: it kept switching from pointy to round so fast that it looked as if it had a life on its own, and at one point Harry swore Malfoy had one grey and one brown eye at the same time.

"What are you staring at?" Malfoy demanded crossly. But the more worked up Malfoy became, Harry noted, the more his features kept twitching alarmingly. "Well?" he pressed when Harry didn't answer. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of himself in the plate, the faint red in his cheeks deepened noticeably, and he barked, '_Finite,_' which instantly lifted the enchantment.

"What happened?" Harry asked at once.

"Concealment Charms, that's what happened," snapped Malfoy. "All they do is _conceal_. Unlike using Polyjuice, none of your features actually _change_. It requires a vast amount of concentration, or you risk for the concealment to Glitch-"

"-and for you to get discovered," Harry finished for him. "I thought you said it was easy," he snipped.

"Yes," Malfoy admitted sourly, "and it is! Some of us don't have the magical talent of a Squib."

"Your concealment Glitched because you got angry," Harry reasoned, ignoring Malfoy's jibe. "That can't happen when we meet the Minister, you know. You need to control yourself, Malfoy."

"Control myself!" Malfoy shrieked indignantly. "If you hadn't implied something so…so atrocious, it wouldn't have happened!"

It took them the better part of an hour to finish their argument, in which Malfoy had been forced to cast five more Concealment Charms because he'd got so angry that his face had looked like a permanent glitch.

It had got up to a point where Malfoy had persistently refused to leave Grimmauld Place with a 'creepy black-eyed, horribly disfigured (he'd said that eying Harry's lightning-shaped scar) mad man'. Only when Harry had Apparated yet again (leaving himself and Malfoy in quivering heaps on the floor in the process) and had stubbornly informed Malfoy that he would do it again if he had to and as often as needed, only _then_ had Malfoy changed his mind, saying he would enjoy seeing Harry make a fool of himself in front of the Minister for Magic, like it had been _his_ idea all along, though clearly the prospect of more pain had been the decisive factor.

They had disagreed on everything. From which location to Apparate to, to how much food they should bring along for lunch. They simply agreed to disagree.

Harry wanted to use the visitor's entrance to get to the Ministry, while Malfoy thought it better to use the Floo at the Leaky Cauldron and Floo directly into the Minister's office unannounced. "Potter, you're famous!" he had exclaimed loudly when Harry had told him a clear 'No', "We shouldn't have to wait in line with all the commoners!"

Then, Malfoy had sneered at him and shouted that Harry didn't know politics if it hit him in the face when he also hadn't agreed to the suggestion that he should visit his vault at Gringotts first to give the Minister an _incentive_ if he didn't listen to words.

According to Malfoy's theory, actions spoke louder than words, but Galleons made actions redundant.

Twice their disagreements had ended in fist fights that had only stopped because they both had worn themselves out trying to punch each other harder than the other could.

They at least had both decided that it wouldn't be such a good idea to Apparate separately. The risk of landing too far apart from each other and suffering the horrible consequences made sure of that. When the time came to leave, it had taken another fifteen minutes to decide who should perform the Side-Along-Apparition.

"I'm not going to Splinch you, Malfoy!" Harry shouted for the hundredth time into Malfoy's face, which once again sported brown hair, brown eyes and a dull nose.

"How would you know? Have you ever _done_ Side-Along-Apparition? Your magic might not be as bad as Longbottom's, but it's pretty close!"

Harry gritted his teeth, adjusting the clasps of the bag packed full with grilled cheese sandwiches on his back. Malfoy had insisted on bringing what he called a _proper_ meal and had ordered one of his house-elves to pack them crumpets, lamb chops and a chocolate gateau. When Harry had snarled that it wasn't practical to walk around carrying three-course meals and that he wasn't carrying all that, Malfoy had only sneered and told him curtly that he would remember that come lunchtime when Harry was nibbling on one of his pathetic sandwiches, and _he_ was enjoying his lamb chops.

"For your information, I _have_." He still had nightmares of Dumbledore too weak to travel and him Apparating them both to Hogsmeade. "Besides," he continued irritably, as an idea occurred to him, "you _can't_ be the one to Apparate us, you need to focus on your Concealment Charm. From what I understand, you aren't able to perform anything but the simplest of spells while underneath the enchantment. And Apparating is not simple," he finished, quite pleased with himself.

When Malfoy's mouth opened and closed stupidly while he attempted to come up with a retort to Harry's logic, Harry's frustration turned into triumph when it became clear Malfoy couldn't weasel his way out of that one.

"Fine!" Malfoy spat eventually, hoisting his own heavily laden bag – complete with silverware, a porcelain plate, a golden goblet and a pepper-and-salt mill decorated with serpents – onto his back, "But if you as much as get me a split end, I _swear_ I will make you pay!"

Apparating with Malfoy turned out to be very dangerous. Harry had only just turned on his heel when Malfoy's grip on his arm tightened painfully before he panicked and tried to let go of Harry's arm altogether. If he hadn't been able to reach around with his other hand to grab the hem of Malfoy's robes, he was sure the result would have been disastrous.

As it was, Harry wasn't at all pleased. Even though he had managed to Apparate them away safely, he hadn't been able to prevent them from drifting off course entirely.

"Where _are_ we?" Malfoy asked furiously. His face, although having subtle differences, looked as aloof as ever when he peered around with a look of deepest loathing.

They had landed in a narrow, grubby side street that was luckily deserted apart from a scruffy-looking man, who was lying on the ground with an old and mouldy newspaper covering his face. It connected to a Muggle street that was laden with shops, boutiques and restaurants and was completely _buzzing_ with people.

"Are those..." Malfoy started when he noticed the direction Harry was staring in. "Wait... Muggle London, you brought me to _Muggle London_!" he screeched appalled.

"You can't be _serious_...I can't stay here," he said in a panicky voice, shadows winding across his face when the sun, noticeably having difficulties, penetrated the little passageway. "If you think for one second - If anyone were to know I've been here," he shuddered at the thought. "I can't believe you, Potter, I should never have trusted you to Apparate. Muggle London! I -"

"Shut _up_!" Harry hissed between clenched teeth as a man and a woman, whose arms were full of shopping bags, entered the side street. Malfoy's mouth, which was still open in protest, snapped shut the instant he noticed the Muggles, his face twisting with disgust, and he started to back away, his eyes following their every movement as if he were afraid they would jump on him and rub some of their Muggleness off on him.

Harry smiled weakly at the couple when the woman's steps faltered; she was eying them dubiously and slowly edging closer to her husband. Confused, Harry followed her gaze and saw the woman had been staring at their clothes and wands. He realised with a start that they, of course, were wearing wizard attire, not at all appropriate for a trip into Muggle London.

He quickly stuffed his wand away into the insides of his robes and tried to catch Malfoy's eye to do the same. Malfoy wasn't looking at him, though; he was still watching the Muggles in alarm with his back now pressed all the way against the wall (Harry feverishly anticipated a smashed chocolate gateau), but what was worse, half of his hair was turning into a white familiar blond.

"Hello," said Harry, quickly trying to distract the couple's attention off Malfoy's conspicuous behaviour, but it was useless. Malfoy was standing partly in shadows, staring fixedly at the pair, while more strands of brown started remodelling themselves into blond. Fortunately they weren't so much looking at his face. The woman gasped loudly, pointing at the end of the wand that was visibly protruding from Malfoy's sleeve. Unfortunately, she had mistaken Malfoy's wand for something else entirely.

"He's got a gun, Peter, look!" she cried in terror.

As soon as the Muggles had fled from the alley and back into the busy street (the woman dropping most of her bags in her haste to get away), he rounded on Malfoy and fixed him with an incredulous stare before growling, "For Merlin's sake, what were you _doing_? Look at your hair! You made us look like a bunch of _thugs_ in an alley. I wouldn't be surprised if they called the police!"

"A gun? I don't even know what a gun is!" Malfoy said loftily, regaining some of his composure as he straightened his robes. "Wait..._what _are they going to call?"

"Never mind," snarled Harry. "Let's go. This way, quickly. And fix your hair!"

Harry started to run in the direction opposite to the many shoppers without looking back to see if Malfoy was following, feverishly hoping he would just disappear if he didn't acknowledge him. The other end of the side street concluded in even drearier side streets, which held clusters of small, ordinary-looking offices and buildings and one or two unpopulated pubs. The few people they saw examined them with shifty eyes and quickly averted their gazes when they saw that he and Malfoy had noticed them looking.

He was starting to become frantic when he did not recognise a single landmark of his visit to the Ministry with Mr. Weasley. Everything seemed to look alike, though he had been confident he'd recollect at least _some_thing; Mr. Weasley had been very quick to point out every minor detail along the way (_Look, Harry, another one of those road signs! This one has a drawn man in it, you see? Marvellously inventive those Muggles, aren't they?_).

Certain they couldn't have Apparated that far away from their destination, he trotted on hastily, Malfoy now next to him panting and red in the face, his hair brown again and his backpack dangling heavily off one shoulder.

"Don't...tell me...we're _lost_,Potter," he panted.

Harry didn't say anything.

"Oh, God … we _are_, aren't we?" Malfoy moaned.

And then, to Harry's great relief, he saw it: straight ahead, a telephone box covered with bright red, flaking paint and several missing panes of glass stood at the end of the next street near a wall full of freshly sprayed graffiti.

"Stuck in _Muggle _London, with none other than the _magnificent_ Harry Potter himself; the one person I hate more than...well...everyone!" Malfoy was muttering darkly under his breath.

"Don't you ever stop whining?" snapped Harry irritably. "It's right here," he said, opening the telephone-box door, which creaked loudly. He entered and held the door open for Malfoy, who looked at him as if he'd grown an extra head.

"Potter, this –" he pointed at the telephone, "– is an old Muggle mechanism by the looks of it – I'm not quite sure – but definitely not the Ministry of Magic," he said slowly, supplying his every word with wild hand gestures as if Harry were too dense to understand words alone.

"It's called a _telephone_ and it _is_ the Ministry of Magic!" Harry exploded, losing every ounce of his patience, which had already been lacking severely. "I mean, it's not _the_ Ministry but –"

"No, really, Potter, isn't St. Mungo's supposed to be somewhere in London? Either way, it can't be far. Maybe we could make a quick stop there and have your head checked first."

"_Very_ funny, Malfoy. Are you coming or not?"

Malfoy didn't move.

"Look at it! It's disgusting," he exclaimed incredulously, "You can't seriously expect me to –" He saw Harry's determined expression and changed his mind. "I mean, there obviously isn't enough room for the both of us, in there. Look at it!" he exclaimed again.

"Get – in – Malfoy," Harry growled, "unless you'd rather _I_ got out and Apparated. _Alone_."

It was the perfect weapon to get Malfoy to do as he wanted. Malfoy was a Slytherin; he'd do anything to avoid pain. He would never willingly suffer pain to achieve something the way Harry would. To Harry, Malfoy was a coward.

Malfoy stiffened and shot him the iciest glare he could muster. "Fine," he spat coldly, following him inside. He stood as far from Harry as he could, using his large and overstuffed bag as a barrier.

They barely fit in the cramped space; to Harry, it seemed as if the telephone box had shrunk since the last time he'd been there. He reached for the receiver – he was crammed up so close to the telephone that it was difficult to bend his arm – and dialled the required numbers. At once, the familiar cool female voice resounded through the telephone box.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

Harry grinned at Malfoy's stunned expression; he'd given a start when the voice suddenly had vibrated around them from what seemed like everywhere and nowhere. The words 'I told you so' were burning to be fired from his lips, but he had a better idea.

"Harry Potter, here to see the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour," he stated promptly, a malevolent glint caught in his eye, "accompanied by ... Justin, Justin Finch-Fletchley," he finished gleefully.

The look of horror plastered on Malfoy's face was priceless. Harry's grin threatened to split his face in half as he tried to imprint Malfoy's expression into his memory so that he could describe it to Ron later and laugh about it together.

Before Malfoy had a chance to react, the cool female voice said, "Thank you. Visitors, please take the appointed badges and attach them to the front of your robes." Two gleaming badges hurtled out of the metal chute where normally coins appeared. Harry picked them up.

"Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

As the telephone box started rattling, it seemed to have also rattled away Malfoy's shock. "You... _you_," he shouted unintelligibly, elbowing Harry hard in the ribs. "Finch-Fletchley? A Muggleborn! A _Muggleborn_ who is a _Hufflepuff_! You did this...you did this on _purpose_!" he shouted, his voice layered with accusation. He started knocking Harry repeatedly into the telephone apparatus.

"Stop it – Malfoy," Harry wheezed painfully, but it seemed as if Malfoy had temporarily lost his hearing or was feigning deafness, for he next started whacking Harry with his bulging bag. He felt something (what he imagined had to be the large porcelain plate) coming down hard between his shoulder blades and let out a loud 'Oomph!'

After a few seconds of relentless attack, he managed to extract one of his arms, which had been squashed between his body and one of the cracked windows, and grabbed Malfoy by the throat awkwardly in an attempt to push him backwards. He couldn't see Malfoy's face as the lift plunged into darkness, but only hear his mad gurgling noises near his ear and feel legs, arms and bags connect with his body.

Arriving at the security desk slightly limping, Harry glared menacingly at Malfoy. Their lift ride down turned out to have been a rather foggy experience for them both. It had transformed into a full-blown, nasty scuffle; all Harry knew was that at one moment they had been up top in the clear light of day, and the next, down into the gold illumination of the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, completely covered in cuts, marks and bruises.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," the cool female voice had said, and they had frozen stupidly like two stone pillars goggling at the hundreds of passing wizards and witches.

Harry's face had been warped by the barbaric cry he had wanted to unleash. He was holding his bag, which he had planned to bring down on Malfoy's head, suspended in mid-air. And Malfoy, who had managed to fall onto the floor, his legs folded up in weird angles for lack of space, his nose, hair and eyes flashing so that he looked like a tilted traffic light, had been in the motion of stabbing Harry in the foot with a fork.

The witches and wizards had cluelessly made their way towards the golden gates at the far end of the Atrium, all immersed in conversation, their Daily Prophets, stacks of tower-high parchments or their goblets filled with steaming hot coffee. A queue had formed before the fireplaces on the left, where people were disappearing into a blaze of green smoke, and another next to the fireplaces on the right-hand side, where people appeared, covered in soot, joining the ever-ongoing throng.

Miraculously, no one seemed to have noticed the two people standing stock-still inside the visitor's entrance, who just a second ago, had actively tried to kill each other.

The lift door had sprung open, and Harry, who had been first to recover, had quickly picked up the two badges (which had fallen to the floor), scrambled out into the doorway (making sure he stomped on one of Malfoy's limbs on his way out) and successfully blocked Malfoy from view. Thirty seconds later, Malfoy, who Harry noted with a smirk sported a cut lip and held his arm at an odd angle, had passed him without a word, his Concealment Charm intact once again.

The badly-shaven wizard, who Harry remembered from his previous visits was named Eric, occupied the security desk today as well. He sat with a bored expression reading a Quidditch magazine called 'Bludgering Bludgers and a Tiny Snitch', in front of a page that had been printed in massive, flashing-purple letters (Harry wondered how he could continue reading without suffering from a terrible migraine) and completely ignored their presence.

"Excuse me, we–" Harry began politely, but was silenced by a hand that the wizard had raised into the air. He had chosen to wear bright tangerine-yellow robes; Malfoy was looking at them as if Eric should be thrown in Azkaban for his tragic fashion crime.

Harry frowned at him, but the security wizard, however, continued to read his magazine as if there had been no interruption. He glanced over at Malfoy, who gave no outward sign that he had seen Harry looking.

After two minutes of complete silence, Harry tried again. "Excuse me, but–" This time he was cut off by an annoyed little noise that came out of the back of Eric's throat; he still hadn't taken his eyes away from his magazine. Annoyed, Harry fell silent again and impatiently tapped his fingers on top of the counter.

Eric's hand moved as if he were about to put the magazine down, and Harry opened his mouth quickly, thinking he was sure to receive some help now, but the wizard only turned to the next page, on which a poster was displayed of a female Quidditch player scarcely clad in only a blue-coloured cape, arm-and-knee pads and her knickers. She was leaning heavily on a racing broom. Eric turned the magazine sideways to have a better look. Harry felt his face burning.

"Oh, _please_," snapped Malfoy after another minute went by, knocking him aside roughly. He leaned over the desk; seized _Bludgering Bludgers and a Tiny Snitch_ out of Eric's grasp, snapped it shut and sneered into his spluttering face. "We'd like to register our wands. Should you, for any reason find yourself to be _occupied_," he said loudly; flapping the magazine in Eric's face, "thus unable to assist, kindly inform us now – _not_ later – , so that we, in turn, may inform your _supervisor_," he went on scathingly, while people were stopping to see where the commotion was coming from. Soon, a small crowd had gathered around them, and Malfoy looked to be in his element. "and, believe me, I _will_ make sure he hears about the kind of reception you've been giving Ministry visitors!" he finished, his voice echoing shrilly through the vast hall.

The line towards the gates was slowing down, and even more Ministry employees paused to stare at them. Harry lowered his head and stepped a bit to the side in the hope he wouldn't be recognised.

"I could have you sacked before your tiny brain has finished counting to two! Now here," Malfoy continued bellowing needlessly when everyone was already listening in. He thrust his wand into Eric's hands, whose face had gone a beet red. "tell me, on which level can we find the Minister?" To this, Eric's face turned a pasty green, his eyes widened so that they resembled two glazed-over marbles, and he hastily started stammering apologies. He actually expected Malfoy to report him to the Minister himself.

Malfoy, knowing exactly what was going through Eric's head, spat, "Don't even _think _you are that important. Well, what are you waiting for, haven't I been clear enough?"

Harry thought Malfoy had been exceptionally clear.

After Malfoy's little speech, they had their wands weighted and registered in record time. Eyes had followed them all the way to the lifts. The Ministry workers, who had witnessed the incident and had to use the elevator as well, shifted nervously as the lift went higher and higher.

They collectively avoided looking at Malfoy, who stood peering around with an unfathomable expression, and even though he did not look like a Malfoy, Harry planned on having a few choice words on his behaviour.

When they reached the second floor ('_Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services'_) there had only been one person left other than themselves: a scrawny wizard with knobbly elbows and a long nose, on which triangular spectacles bounced nervously. He rushed out as soon as the doors had opened, a fleet of inter-departmental memos trailing in his wake.

"There was no need to raise your voice like that; you're not supposed to draw attention to yourself, what if you had Glitched?" Harry said at once when they were alone.

"I had it under control," said Malfoy haughtily.

"But what if-"

"_I_ for one had not envisioned spending the rest of my afternoon standing at the security desk watching that _pervert_ flip through his magazine!" Malfoy cut him off. "Plus, your face was becoming so red that I feared it might explode, and as much as I'd _celebrate_ the day you died, Potter," he added cruelly, "– believe me, I'd even dig your grave myself if I had to, right next to your parents' – I wouldn't want to be anywhere near you when it actually happened. They'd probably try to blame it on me."

Harry's irritation with Malfoy had slowly been building up like a hot, simmering potion. And now, with each word Malfoy had spoken, it had finally reached its boiling point and erupted to the surface in one big sickening mess.

That something inside of Harry that had awakened with the Releaser and even had remained in him upon the Releaser's removal, that barrier shielding his emotions surged up all around him. He hadn't thought of it for a while, not really been aware of its presence, but now he could feel it clearly, and he treasured the fact that he still couldn't experience that terrible grief tucked away somewhere.

There was a flaw, though: a leak in the barrier, a tiny opening that seemed to have allowed rage and anger to seep through it. It now tried to engulf him like icy waves in a storm.

He stood trembling as Malfoy's wand joined his own; their eyes had locked – brown with a smouldering black, both showing faint traces of the emerald and grey they ought to be. Harry didn't know how Malfoy made the colour brown look so cold, so dead. They mocked him openly, dared him to utter a curse, and just as he wanted to take them up on that dare, the lift doors opened again, and this time the cool female voice said, 'Level One, House of The Minister for Magic, Protector of Wizarding Law and Well-being, and the International Statute of Secrecy.'

Malfoy held his head stiffly; he looked pale. His eyes flickered towards the hall just outside the lift doors. They were like shards of frozen ice, freezing but sharp. Their colour started to bleed into a silver-grey that betrayed Malfoy's anxiety, and the longer they stood looking fixedly at each other, the more Malfoy's features kept changing back into those familiar characteristics Harry knew so well.

"Do you _really _think…it would be a _wise_ choice," Malfoy said glancing at his wand and licking his lips nervously, "…with Aurors just one level below us?"

Harry exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, blocking Malfoy's from view so he could concentrate. He needed to get himself under control; he couldn't very well start a fight with Malfoy in the _Ministry_ of all places, no matter what came out of his foul mouth. He thought suddenly of Hermione and what he imagined she would say to him if she had been there; _It's what he wants Harry, don't…just don't. He's not worth it._

It was difficult, but bit by bit he forced himself to lower his wand, his arm still shaking.

"Here," he said in a strained voice, throwing Malfoy's square silver badge, which read _Justin Finch-Fletchley, to see Rufus Scrimgeour,_ in his face, and stalked out of the elevator while pinning his own badge to his own robes.

He blindly strode onto the first level, through the hall, round the corner and collided with something squat and plump: a short witch with a large round face, large blue eyes and large bust that quivered like pudding as she hastily picked up scattered papers and files that had fallen out of her hands. She had the largest hair he had ever seen and he imaged Hermione would never feel embarrassed again if she witnessed this. Her hair was even whiter than Dumbledore's beard used to be and probably as long, only standing straight up in large curls that reminded him of stacked toilet paper rolls. On each curl, tied ribbons twinkled in the light when she moved. Harry guessed she was trying to make up in length with her hair.

"I'm _so_ sorry…third time it's happened today…keep bumping into people … he's asked me to file these specifically…got to run," she said breathlessly without sparing him a glance, and before Harry could edge a word in, she had vanished around the corner, her absurdly big hair bouncing with every step.

"She's forgotten something," said Malfoy's voice.

Malfoy stood a few paces behind him holding a black envelope in his hand, his silver badge gleaming on the front of his black robe. Harry walked up to him and snatched it out of his fingers angrily.

"We'll be giving this back," he snapped, and he put the envelope, which felt surprisingly heavy, into his backpack.

He peered around. They were standing in a very long and great corridor; the walls were tall and painted in a delicate sea-blue, and the hairy carpet underneath their feet glowed a rusty yellow. The scene reminded Harry of one of the many postcards Aunt Marge had sent Dudley when she had been on holiday in the Caribbean. He used to imagine himself on that beautiful beach far away from the Dursleys when he was younger, with an ocean so blue and clear he could count the fish. The image managed to hearten him a little, right until the image of uncle Vernon's sister in a small pink bikini crept into the picture and made him sick to the stomach.

He scowled at the blue walls, which were so high he only now discovered that huge paintings hung all the way up top, and as they walked further along the corridor without seeing a single door, he began to wonder if they were heading in the right direction. They had rounded so many corners that twisted and turned in all angles that it almost seemed impossible they were still within the walls of the Ministry.

After what felt like a ten-minute walk, they finally reached the end of the corridor. A dark wooden door with an iron knocker guarded the wall directly in front of him; it had a big silver plaque stuck in the middle that said 'Minister for Magic Offices' in big flamboyant letters. There was a small workbench to the right side of the door; a sign hovered above it that read in equally showy letters, 'Assistant to the Minister for Magic'

"Well?" Malfoy asked impatiently.

Harry didn't answer, but took the knocker into his hand and rapped it against the door. Rather peculiar, and not at all what he had anticipated hearing, a loud gong resounded through the hallway, reverberating raucously.

"Come in," a voice barked from behind the door.

Harry opened the door and stepped in followed by Malfoy. The Minister's office resembled the hall in its twists and turns. To Harry it felt like stepping into a giant puzzle piece; not one wall was straight, each wall seemed to curve in or out and if there was a stretch of wall that _was_ straight, it always slanted or stood at an odd angle.

The room was in complete disarray. Every piece of furniture seemed to be ambushed by files, rolls of parchments, newspaper clippings, books of all sizes, plates with half-eaten food or knocked-over goblets. The carpet might as well have been non-existent, for almost the entirety of the floor was covered under sheets of paper, on which graphs and diagrams were sketched. On the centre of the floor lay a huge map of Great Britain. A mixture of coloured pins was stuck in different areas with notes that had been scribbled to the side in an untidy, curly scrawl.

There was no one in sight. Harry looked around for another door that might bring them to the person who had called out to them, when suddenly something moved. In the very middle of the room, what Harry had mistaken for a pile of clutter stood a desk behind which a man sat looking at them owlishly from wire-rimmed spectacles. The Minister looked as if he had not shaved anytime this millennium, and compared to his normally scruffy appearance, Rufus Scrimgeour now looked like a caveman caught in the wrong era; his tawny mane had grown so wild that if anyone told Harry that the Minister had acquired it from a real lion, he would not have argued.

"Who's there? Where's Celia!" the Minister growled, standing up furiously.

"The door was open. You…you told us to come in? Celia?" Harry asked confused.

"Celia, my assistant," Scrimgeour said distantly, sitting back down on his chair. "Who are you?"

Harry frowned at him; he thought the Minister looked very distracted. "Harry Potter...remember? The _Chosen One_?"

Scrimgeour blinked, and a few seconds later his eyes seemed to focus. They latched on to Harry as if they only now just noticed him. "Oh, of course you are. Yes, of course. I see..." He paused then, looked at Malfoy, determined he wasn't important and ignored him, turning back to Harry. "Changed your mind, have you? Decided to stand by the Ministry after all...I must say it's for the best. Dumbledore, such a terrible...loss," he said pretentiously, shaking his shaggy head. "It's not too late, Harry. If we were to work together we–"

Any concern he had felt for Scrimgeour's behaviour dissipated, and Harry sensed the resentment he had experienced in the lift bubbling in his stomach like acid.

"I'm not planning on sugar-coating Voldemort's return or lulling people into a false sense of safety just to make you look more competent!" he snapped. "I've told you this months ago, my opinion has not changed."

Scrimgeour's expression hardened. "We need to stand united. The Ministry is doing everything in its power to–"

"So Stan Shunpike's been released then?" Harry shot heatedly.

Scrimgeour didn't reply.

"That's what I thought."

"Sometimes sacrifices need to be made. We are at war, now. Casualties happen," said Scrimgeour, angrily slamming his fist on the desk.

"Casualties that you yourself created!" Harry exclaimed outraged. "The way you justify your actions...you're no better than Voldemort!" His voice echoed through the room as silence met his words. Only the sound of crackling fire in the rounded hearth that was fitted into an oval-shaped strip of wall and Malfoy's strangled little noise upon hearing Voldemort's name sounded through the office. Malfoy's face had paled considerably, and he was looking around nervously, as if expecting Voldemort to descend down on their heads.

"You just don't understand, do you?" Scrimgeour said after a while in a dangerous voice, fury visibly swivelling in his amber eyes. He stood up and walked around his desk. "_You-Know-Who _is more powerful than he ever was before, we can't afford to make any mistakes. The only way we can eliminate him is with power and I...posses...that power as the Minister for Magic. I will, as long as I have the vote of the people behind me!"

Harry looked at him in open disgust, and he snarled, "I refuse to be _used_ in any part of your powergames. You do whatever you think you must, _Minister._"

"Then tell me, what is the reason for you visit, Potter?" Scrimgeour growled.

"The Ministry regulated the protection shield at Bill Weasley's wedding. I want to know what happened..." he said coldly, trying to control his anger and failing.

Scrimgeour's aversion shifted to utter bewilderment. Whatever it was he'd expected Harry to ask, this had not been it. "Bill Weasley's wedding? Arthur's son got married?"

Harry glared at him, incensed. Had there been a wedding? Scrimgeour couldn't be serious. There had been much more than a wedding. A massacre! "If this is some sick joke–" he started, but stopped when Scrimgeour's eyes widened suddenly as if he had just remembered something, and then his face went ashen grey. "Of course...the wedding. I see, yes...of course..." he said softly.

He rushed towards Harry, grabbed the front of his robes and whispered frantically, "I am to blame...the wedding...I did it."

Harry was so shocked that he was stunned immobile.

Scrimgeour let go of him, rushed to the middle of the room and dropped to his knees, hastily gathering the huge map that lay on the floor into his arms. "It was me...all my fault, I am the one to blame," he repeated. He hurried back to Harry, pushing the half-folded, half-crumpled map into his arms. "Take it...hide it. Quickly!"

"Minister...are you alright?" Harry asked confused. Scrimgeour didn't answer; instead, he started forcing the wrinkled map into his backpack.

Malfoy was looking at the Minister as if he was off his rocker as Harry started struggling against the wizard's hold.

"It's all my fault. You need to have this. Take it!" There was such a desperate note in his voice, and his yellowish eyes were so wide and wild that Harry stopped moving.

"Something's wrong, Potter. I don't like this. Let's get out of here," said Malfoy nervously.

This was the first time Malfoy had ever made sense to him. But he couldn't just leave, not just yet. "What have you done? Who took off the protection shield?" he urged.

Scrimgeour stopped rummaging with his backpack, his hands shaking uncontrollably; he opened his mouth to say something, but at the same time the door ricocheted open, and the short witch with the large white hair bounded in.

"It's Celia. I've got your medicine ready, just needs a bit of-"

She took in the scene in front of her with a look of complete shock, her eyes drifting over the scar on Harry's face. "How…"she breathed. "I told them _explicitly_ to warn me if..." she glanced at the Minister and the backpack on Harry's back. It was still partially open, and a piece of the map was visible under the flap. "You can't take that, that's Ministry property!" she squealed.

"The Minister gave it to me," Harry said defensively.

"He's not well, he…he needs to take his medicine," she stammered, fussing with her robes and extracting a bottle that held a heliotrope-purple liquid. As soon as Scrimgeour noticed the bottle, he let go of Harry's bag and snatched the bottle out of the witch's hand. He unstopped it and feverishly started drinking the concoction.

"What are you giving him?" Harry demanded when Scrimgeour started swaying from side to side, his face oddly blank.

"Just something for his headaches," she said quickly, avoiding looking in his eyes. "I need that map back, young man."

Harry ignored her. "Minister, are you okay? You were about to tell me something. I need to know who took off the protection shield."

At that, Celia stiffened and her demeanour turned cold instantly. "What has he told you?" she demanded crisply.

"Nothing, but he was about to tell me something important...I just know it." Harry wasn't looking at her; he hadn't noticed her change. He had eyes only for the Minister, who was now peering around as if he didn't know his own office.

"Potter, I think we ought to leave. I think we ought to leave right _now_!" urged Malfoy's voice uneasily.

But Harry walked up to Scrimgeour and grabbed his shoulders and started shaking him slightly. "Minister, what happened at the wedding? You need to tell me. It's important!"

Scrimgeour looked up at him as if he had not seen him before. "Oh hello, who are you?" he asked in a pleasant voice.

"_P-Potter_!" Malfoy said again, definitely more anxious this time.

"Shut _up,_ Malfoy! I'm trying to concentrate," Harry snapped at him as he looked at Scrimgeour in dismay. He was sure Scrimgeour had been on the point of telling him something crucial before that witch had walked in.

"What did you do to him!" he demanded, rounding on the Minister's assistant when Scrimgeour seemed to have forgotten he had asked a question and stared off into space. But when he turned around to look at her, he found her across the room near the door, and her wand was aimed at him and Malfoy, who had managed to get behind him without his notice.

"I told you, it's for his headaches," Celia said coldly.

"What are you doing?"

Celia said nothing; instead, she shot bright sparks at an object that hung above the door; it started flashing red light like the lights on an ambulance.

"Why didn't you say anything," Harry said to Malfoy between gritted teeth.

"I did! Multiple attempts, actually, that – might I add – _you_ completely ignored. This is once again all your fault!" hissed Malfoy in his ear, standing close behind him.

"Maybe if you had mentioned a crazy witch that had a wand pointed at us, I would have paid more attention!"

"Oh, that's _such _a good idea. Next time I'll try to remember to broadcast it so that it will warn you _and_ her at the same time!" Malfoy said sarcastically. "I can't believe you're blaming me for-"

"Well, why didn't you try to stop her?" he demanded irrationally.

"I'm not the hero here, Potter. That's your job! Or are all those great stories that have gone through Hogwarts about you battling You-Know-Who supposed to be fairy tales now? I, of course, knew they were rubbish all along-"

"Do you always talk so much when you're _scared_? Harry snapped annoyed.

"Scared!" Malfoy shrieked scandalised. "I'm _not_ scared, I–"

"Be – quiet!" Celia commanded abruptly. Harry felt Malfoy jump. "And no sudden movements," she added when Harry made to grab for his wand. "Soon the Aurors will be here, that's a silent alarm I've set off." And no sooner had she finished than the door shot open, and Nymphadora Tonks burst through the door followed by an Auror Harry recognised as Dawlish.

"What's going on in here? Harry, what are you doing here?" Tonks asked confused, lowering her wand at once and looking at him in surprise.

"These _culprits_ need to be apprehended," Celia answered for him. "I've caught them red-handed. They tried to steal classified information from the Minister's Office!" Celia informed Tonks.

"That's not true, she's lying!" Harry shouted in disbelief at Celia's lies. His hands clenched into fists, and he took a step forward.

"Can you explain, then, why you have the Minister's map in your bag?" Celia said triumphantly.

"He gave it to me!" he said angrily, but as he said it he knew it sounded pretty far-fetched, and he couldn't blame Tonks for looking at him doubtfully. "I swear, Tonks...you've got to believe me. I didn't–"

Tonks turned towards Rufus Scrimgeour, who was still just looking around absently. "Minister, did these two men steal anything from you, sir?"

"They did, didn't they?" Celia said at once. "Your map, they took it. You saw them, didn't you?" she continued looking into his eyes.

"Celia?" Scrimgeour said softly.

"Yes, it's me. You don't have to worry anymore. I called the Aurors." She turned to Tonks. "He's not feeling so well today. Still grieving, which is only natural. It's terrible what happened to his wife," Celia said, shaking her head sadly; Tonks nodded.

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "He's not well because you..._poisoned_ him!" he shouted, losing his temper.

"Those are some serious accusations," Dawlish cut in brusquely. His voice was sharp, clear and commanding.

"It's true, look... the bottle, it's in his–" But it wasn't in his hand. He glanced around wildly, but the bottle was nowhere in sight. "She took it! I'm telling you, she took the bottle!"

Dawlish looked at him sceptically. "That's enough, Potter. Who's your friend?"

"This is...M-Justin...I mean Justin Finch-Fletchley." Harry felt Malfoy stiffen behind him; he hoped feverishly Malfoy would keep his concentration. If he were to have a glitch now...

"Finch-Fletchley, is it?" Dawlish asked Malfoy dubiously.

"Yes," Malfoy's voice sounded from behind him, surprisingly steady.

"And, Justin Finch-Fletchley, why are you here?"

"Obviously, to visit the Minister. I thought Aurors were supposed to be able to read at least, if nothing else. I've noticed you looking at my badge," he said scathingly.

Harry wanted to hit him. What was Malfoy thinking? He was not helping the situation. This was no time for his witty remarks. Dawlish seemed to agree with him, for his expression darkened.

"Right. You two will be coming to the Auror department for questioning. Tonks?"

Tonks was looking at Harry intently, her hair and eyes an electric blue. She glanced at the fireplace and then back at him; her eyes seemed to want to burn a hole through his head.

"Tonks?" Dawlish cut in again.

"Yes...right. Finch-Fletchley and Potter, you will have to come with us." She walked towards them, wand aimed straight at them. She was still looking at him as if she was trying to tell him something, her eyes again trailing back to the burning hearth. Harry stood dumbfounded – Tonks couldn't actually believe he'd stolen something, could she?

"Tonks, what are you doing...She's lying!" he said, taking a step backwards.

"Just stay calm and cooperate, I'm sure everything will be just..._fine_," she said. "_Stup_–"

Then she seemed to trip over the hem of her robe and fell towards the ground, taking with her an unsuspecting Dawlish, who had followed on her heel, and knocking his wand out of his outstretched arm. Dawlish let out a surprised yell, and Celia looked at the incident in disbelief. Tonks's wand arm wavered wildly as she fell backwards, and the Stunning Spell that had been on her lips connected with Celia instead of Harry, who slumped to the floor instantly.

Harry understood.

He grabbed Malfoy, who was gaping at what was happening, by the arm and dragged him over to the fireplace. He noted that his eyes were ice-grey again, but it was such a subtle difference that you'd only notice if you were up close and looking for it, so it was no wonder Dawlish, Tonks and Celia hadn't noticed. He grabbed a handful of the Floo-Powder that stood in a small bowl on the mantelpiece and threw it into the fire.

"They are getting away!" roared Dawlish, who pushed Tonks off him hastily. He grabbed his wand from between the clutter and aimed it at them. But he was too late. Harry had already shoved Malfoy into the fire and was standing next to him. The red light of the Stunner from Dawlish's wand was flying straight at them as he, for some reason, was oddly reminded of the first time he ever travelled by Floo and yelled, "Knockturn Alley!"

And he and Malfoy vanished in a cloud of green smoke.


End file.
